Careful What You Wish For
by ladyofdarkstar
Summary: Part One Complete: Semi-serious crackfic based on the "butterfly effect" scenario. We've all said "Oh, I would have done this!" if we were in a particular scene of our favorite movie or book. But what changes would occur to the rest of the galaxy if we had our "moment?" Chapters 1-19 cover ANH. Chapters 20-28 are between AHN and ESB. Goes heavily AU. Be warned! Reviews are love!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Written as a gift fic for a good friend. We all have our favorite scenes in Star Wars, be it in the movies or the books. And we all have those moments were we wish we could step into those scenes and change things. What if we could do it? What if you were given the chance to go into that favorite scene and do what you wanted... only it didn't turn out the way you expected? What if that one tiny little change reshaped the stories we all know and love? I know it's been done before but I couldn't help myself. This is a semi-serious crackfic that's going to tap dance all over established continuity and go so far AU that I'm not sure it will ever circle back. So please keep that in mind as you read. :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Please do not sue.

* * *

Staring down the barrel of a standard E-11 blaster rifle wasn't exactly the way I'd planned on ending my evening. I thought that as I lay prone on the cold deck plating, a small swarm of white-armored men filling the cramped corridor. Part of me was aware that I should be screaming right now, and indeed part of me was doing that inside my scrambled little brain. But whatever had happened to me was calling the shots across my body at the moment, and that meant my mouth wasn't on board with the whole scream-and-yell plan.

Come to think of it, my body wasn't on board with pretty much anything right then, save for staring at that rifle and beyond it the stormtrooper that held it a foot above my face.

Panic nattered down my spine like an annoying chipmunk, like Alvin had taken up residence inside my spinal fluid and was singing away in that super high pitched voice that something was horribly, terribly wrong with this situation. My benumbed brain couldn't quite figure it out, though. Yes, I was a little upset that I was laying on a cold hard surface. Yes, it was quite alarming to have a weapon pointed at my face. I was rather fond of having a face, you see, and I really didn't want to have it shot off. Even the man in the white armor was slightly jarring to my senses, but it wasn't unfamiliar.

Maybe I had fallen down at a sci-fi con? Yes, that had to be it. I'd slipped and fell, and this fellow con attendee was playing the part of his stormtrooper cosplay to the letter, standing over me until I could regain my senses and get up on my own. So why was Alvin continually racing across my spine and shoulders, singing the "you are such a freaking idiot" song?

I frowned slightly, trying to lift my arm to my face in a futile attempt to wipe away the brain haze that clouded my judgment. My arm didn't want to move quite yet, and the cosplayer above me brought that rifle just an inch closer to my face.

"I said don't move," came the filtered voice from that helmet.

My frown deepened. "Rude much?" I managed out, my voice sounding all shades of thick and slow to my ears. I must have hit the ground harder than I thought.

Seriously, I had simply slipped and fell! It wasn't like I was going to walk away without thanking him for his help or apologizing for screwing up his time at the con. He didn't have to be so douchy about it. I was clumsy even on my best day, and I was just thankful that a) I hadn't broken anything and b) I hadn't hurt anyone in the process. Or had I? Vague impressions started to work its way through the fog in my head, and Alvin and his sing-song insults began to recede. Something about a woman in white and shoving her out of the way from some bluish burst of light…

My frown turned into a look of shock. "Dude! I'm so sorry," I slurred. "You and the girl dressed like Princess Leia! You were doing some sort of show thing, weren't you? Oh man, I'm sorry I interrupted it. I—"

The dude in the armor pulled his weapon away from my face and backed up. A new face filled my vision, this one of a man in a black Imperial uniform, his rank bar and code cylinder naming him a commander. He had a hard face and even harder eyes, the lines of his expression drawn taught as he stared down at me like, well, I was a clumsy idiot that had ruined his show. Which I probably was.

"What did you just say?" He demanded.

Really, the rudeness was really getting to be a bit much. And it dawned on me that I knew the guy. Okay, I knew who he was cosplaying as, I should say. "Look, Commander Nahdonnis Praji, or whatever your real name is, I said I was sorry. I didn't mean to get in the way, so cut the attitude already."

If I said his face had been hard before, it positively turned to stone now. "Get her up," he growled. "Inform Lord Vader that we have two prisoners for him."

My former white-armored-jerkface reappeared to my left and a new jerkface appeared at my right. I was unceremoniously hauled to my feet between the two, my arms pulled out in front of me. Commander Praji or whomever he really was grabbed my proffered wrists roughly. A set of realistic looking binders clamped down my skin, cold and hard enough that I winced. That had really hurt.

"Seriously!" I twisted as much as I could between the two jerkfaces—which was to say I really didn't move much at all. "What's your damage? Haven't you ever heard of unlawful imprisonment? Let me go before I call for the real police. I'm not participating in your little show, so back off!"

"Are you quite done?" the Praji wannabe said coldly. So coldly in fact that it caught me off guard for a second. And he took the initiative left in the wake of my surprise. "Good. Then allow me to set the record straight for you, prisoner. You will participate in this little 'show' as you called it and you will answer my questions. First off, what did you mean when you said 'the girl dressed like Princess Leia?' Are you telling me that this is an imposter?"

He nodded his head to the side, and two more jerkfaces hauled the Leia-look-alike over to me. "Is this not Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan?"

The woman in white next to me looked like I felt, all wobbly and out of it. But she managed to do so in a regal way that left me breathless with envy. Her chocolate brown eyes were sharp, however, even if her feet kept trying to slide out from under her. The look she gave the Commander Praji wannabe could have etched steel.

"I am Senator Organa, Commander," she told him in a clipped tone that was laced with equal parts acidic hate and royal ice. Ignoring me completely. "And I demand to know why you have detained my ship and injured my crew."

The Praji dude wasn't so content to forget my existence. After staring down the Leia gal, searching her face so hard that I was mildly surprised he wasn't leaving marks on it with his eyes, he turned that stone mug of his back towards me. "I don't know what game you two are playing, but for your sakes I hope you drop it soon," he said simply, taking a step back. "Lord Vader will determine the truth of this matter. "

I gaped at him. Was he serious? Was I really being kidnapped by a bunch of Star Wars loving cosplayers? I mean, attending science fictions cons, you hear all sorts of horror stories about people wandering off alone only to be kidnapped and murdered or whatever by psychos dressed as their favorite characters. I'd always blown those stories off. Most people involved in cosplay were decent folks that only wanted to dress up and have fun. And they generally were the most helpful people I'd ever met, looking out for one another and making sure crap like this didn't happen.

So why was it happening, and to me of all people?

Come to think of it, when did I arrive at con in the first place? I tried to think, to push aside the gloom that my brain felt like it was dipped in. If I only had a second to think, I was certain I could figure out just what in the world was going on here. There had been the sensation of falling, I remembered that at least. And then there was that feeling of rapid movement and shoving the Leia-look-alike out of the way of a stream of blue swirling light.

I'd always wanted to do that, to save the Princess before Vader got his robotic paws all over her. But in that fantasy, I'd been slick and so Mary-Sue it almost made my teeth hurt. I'd pushed her out of the way, dodged the stun beam, picked up her fallen gun and taken out an entire squad of stormtroopers all by myself. Of course I'd taken a very sexy scar on my cheek during the combat from a near miss of a blaster bolt, because let's face it, all heroes look sexier with minute scars just under or over their eyes.

I mean, look how hot Anakin was in Episode III when we first saw him on screen. I'd wanted to tie him down and run my tongue over that scar until we were both moaning and his hands were sliding up my sides, getting ready to pull me down into a kiss that would… well, it was my fantasy, dammit. Don't judge me.

But this? This wasn't anywhere near my fantasy of saving Princess Leia. In that fantasy, after I'd earned my delicious scar that I was going to enjoy having Luke lick until… again, you get the point. Don't judge, I said! In that fantasy, we'd managed to flood the ship with some sort of coolant gas that rendered everyone unconscious. Then Leia and I made it into an escape pod and down to Tatooine. We became best friends in that scenario and went on to help crush the Empire.

The look my erstwhile future best friend was giving me right now wasn't anywhere near the relieved joy she'd worn in my fantasy. And the fact that I wanted to throw up all over Commander Praji's boots was far from how I was supposed to feel when we escaped. Actually, the only thing that I'd managed to do right according to my mental fanfiction was push Leia out of the way.

Only to get stunned myself, I realized. _That's_ how I ended up flat on my back. _That's_ why I felt like someone had tied me to a chair and beaten me with hammers.

I wasn't at a convention. The jerkfaces holding my arms weren't wearing modified hard plastic armor they'd made themselves, either. It was the real deal. And the blaster that had been aimed at my face hadn't smelled of molded silicon and model paint. It had smelled of cooling metal and faint ozone from the stun bolt it had delivered. And Alvin the Harbinger-Of-Doom chipmunk was joined by Simon and Theodore inside my brain to squeak out a loving rendition of "You're So Screwed."

Praji nodded to the four-pack-o-jerkfaces currently restraining Leia and I. "Take them."

"Woah. First off, buddy, there is no _'them_,"' I struggled as much as I could as we brushed passed him, my brain refusing to accept the impossible conclusions my mind had come up with. "I have no idea who this woman is really! And secondly, I'm done participating in this little power game of yours. Get this crap off my arms and let me go before I press charges. Seriously, let go!"

"Do shut up," Leia retorted hotly and primly in my direction. "I have no idea who you are or how you got here, but you have done quite enough to make a difficult situation even worse."

"Well, that's one of the things I'm good at, your worship," I snapped back. "I screw up plenty on my own without your commentary."

Apparently that was the last straw from Commander Praji. He crossed briskly over to me, pulling some sort of silvery flexible rectangle from a pouch on his belt. Frick and Frack, the names I'd given the two jerkfaces holding me like a sack of potatoes beween them, came to a stop. One of them grabbed my hair to hold my head steady. I barely had time to grunt out a "oh, hell no!" before that silvery material was slapped over my mouth. It clung to my face on its own accord.

"I still have other questions for you later, rebel," he growled quietly. "Like how you knew me on sight."

I was suddenly glad that Leia was behind me. I didn't want to give her the satisfaction of watching the blood drain from my face, or the look of horror half hidden behind Praji's gag. She was right. My mouth and I had done plenty to make a bad situation worse, and it had only just begun.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: As always, for my friend and her odd sense of humor. Thanks to all who have enjoyed and reviewed, too! :D

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun.

* * *

Walking down the hallways of _Tantive VI_ should have been more exciting than it was.

I mean, I'd built the set in my mind over and over again, imagining myself in this very position. Okay, not this very position, but you get the idea. In my mind, I wasn't being lugged around by armored hands at a pace just shy of too fast for me to keep up with. I stumbled a lot, and that had nothing to do with the lingering effects of the stunbolt. No, I should have been strolling down these sacred halls, stopping to drool over every detail and giggle with mad glee.

C'mon, this was _THE Tantive VI_! A real honest-to-goodness spaceship! This was Princess Leia's ship! Any fangirl (or fanboy) worth the very beat of their hearts would have given anything to be here right now. It was a dream come true.

Correction: It was a nightmare.

The jackboots of the stormtroopers and officers bounced off the near empty corridors like a never-ending peel of thunder. Moans from the severely injured or dying was mostly swallowed by that ongoing noise, for which I was grateful. It was the occasional high pitched scream, cut off so abruptly, that punctuated that rolling thunder like morbid lightning strikes. Were they executing the prisoners? Seriously? In the movie, Vader had ordered them all brought to him alive! Who would be dumb enough to ignore an order from the Dark Lord, himself?

I jumped again as one more scream filled the air, a final plea for mercy, only to be silenced just as swiftly as it began. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Praji glance my way. Since Frick and Frack were so kind as to manhandle me on my upper arms, I had freedom in my hands and lower arms. So I flashed him a one-fingered salute. I'll let you guess which finger it was. To my annoyance, Praji completely ignored it.

Our little parade rounded a corner, and Praji put a hand up in front of me, Frick and Frack. Leia was herded ahead of us by her two douchebags in white. It was honestly like watching some mutated mockery version of knights in shining armor protecting their honored lady. Her face had lost some of that primness, settling into lines of grim determination. And was it my imagination, or did she look a little pale, too? It was hard to believe that the woman who had literally walked with her escorts like it was her idea to have them there in first place was afraid. But that's what I was seeing.

It sorta made me afraid, too.

And that's when I heard the reason why she was afraid. Heavy breathing. Electronic heavy breathing. In an even pattern that I knew down into the depths of my soul, that had frightened me as a small child and thrilled me as a teenager. Shit. Vader was here. The _real_ Darth Vader, and not some guy doing cosplay. I'd seen a lot of Vader suits before at conventions, and none of them had sounded that real.

Had sounded like menace and death and I'm-going-to-swallow-your-soul all wrapped in one big black armored package.

I was trying to back away before I knew it, and the smug satisfaction that rolled off Praji nearly penetrated the terror cloud around my heart. He was enjoying this, the …uhhh… hrm. I was running out of synonyms for the title "jerk." I was going to have to start resorting to words like "dilhole," which I didn't care for, personally. Anyway, I hadn't even come face to face with Lord Vader yet and my body had already initiated run-for-your-life procedures. Praji shook his head slowly, signaling Frick and Frack to place me front and center before him.

"Have you something to say?" Commander Dilhole asked.

Oh, I had a lot to say. Nothing he wanted to hear, of course, but that didn't negate my desire to say them. I think my eyes reflected that, because his own orbs froze me with the flat detached look in them. The guy was pure ice, pure business down to his black little heart. And I was making myself his 'business' with each insolent remark or irreverent glance in his direction.

"Are you ready to answer my questions?" he asked, stepping forward until he was practically standing on top of me. "It will go easier for you if you cooperate."

Gloved fingers removed my gag. "Easier? Really, you think I'm going to fall for that? You called me a rebel, dude. Don't you Imp-dicks have standing orders to execute all rebels or something? You tell me how that's going to be 'easier' if I 'cooperate.' Dead is dead."

He smirked. He actually smirked. Part of me was surprised that his face didn't crack from the effort. The man took the term "broodingly serious" to a whole new level. "I was hoping you would say that. Your interrogation is going to be interesting to watch."

That stole some of the fight from me. "Come again?"

"I'm going to request, personally, to be in charge of your interrogation," he said simply and professionally, as if we were discussing the flipping wall color. "I want answers to my questions."

Me? Imperial _interrogation_? My brain not only didn't want to compute that, it flat out rejected the math. One plus one (me plus Praji) did _**not**_ equal the two of us in a private little torture chamber. Nope. Not happening. Ever. One plus one equaled me getting the hell out of here. By any means necessary!

"I don't suppose we are open to negotiations on that, are we?" I asked through suddenly stiff lips.

His smirk became a smile. If sharks had lips, I'd imagine that they would smile that way. "I'm afraid we are past negotiations, rebel. You should have thought of that before you took an attitude with me."

I conjured up as much anger as I could, which wasn't much what with the looming prospect of a full blown imperial interrogation hanging over my head. But I wasn't going to let him know that. "So you're telling me there's nothing I can do to change your mind?"

He shook his head.

"Then what's my motivation to behave, dumbass?" I snapped. "See, you've got this all wrong. There's all sorts of trouble I can get into before you lock me in a cage, and believe me when I say it; I'm made of pure annoyance and trouble. You're supposed to offer me incentives to be good and junk. "

A body sailed through the air behind him, crashing into the far wall hard enough to break bone. It crumpled to the floor with a sickening wet sound, its head wrenched around at an unnatural angle. I yelped, trying to jump back. Said body was dressed in a rebel uniform. And over it all was that strong, dark, heavy, terror-inducing electronic breathing.

Praji didn't turn around. He didn't so much as bat an eyelash. "Is that incentive enough?"

I couldn't look away from the body, from the lifeless eyes. _Yes! Good lord, please don't take me to him! I'll do whatever you ask! _What came out of my mouth was "I hate you right now."

Yup, that was me, alright. The master of witty repartee.

"You're going to hate me for a much longer period than just now. In fact, you are going to hate me for the rest of your life, however long or short that may be." He looked over my head to Frick and Frack. "Bring her."

We started forward again, turning around that one last corner that would take me face to face with the Lord Darth Vader.

* * *

Leia was in full Pissed-off Princess Power Rage when Praji pulled our little group up short a few steps away.

"Darth Vader, only you can be so bold," she quipped, regal arrogance peppering her voice. "The Imperial Senate will not sit still for this. When they hear you've attacked a diplomatic—"

"Don't act so surprised , Your Highness," he cut in, pointing a finger at her pert nose. "You weren't on any mercy missions this time. Several transmissions were beamed to this ship by rebel spies. I want to know what happened to the plans they sent you."

She did her best to look put upon, like she was forced to sit next to that one kid on the bus that ate his boogers and smelled of urine. She managed a resigned disgusted sigh. "I don't know what you're talking about. I am a member of the Imperial Senate on a diplomatic mission to Alderaan."

It was a good show, and unconsciously I raised my hands to clap. I knew she knew where the plans were. Hell, _I_ knew where the plans were. But no one was asking me (thank god!). Praji sent me one of those stone cold glares and I lowered my hands. Especially when I caught the tale tell glimmer of silvery cloth tucked away in his palm. Didn't want to be gagged again, thank you!

Vader didn't like her performance, or was just feeling like an asshat today. His anger flared so hotly that even Praji almost took a step backward. "You are part of the Rebel Alliance and a traitor," he roared, gesturing dramatically with one hand to the stormtroopers around her. "Take her away!"

And that's when Praji thought it would be a stellar idea to speak up. I made a mental note to read him the riot act for his darling choice of timing. Sure, let's present me to Lord Vader when he looked ready to Force choke the entire ship!

"My Lord," he stepped forward, so businesslike that Vader's white-hot gaze didn't so much as singe him. "We may have a situation. This prisoner here," he raised a hand and I was frog marched up beside him. "Has given me cause to believe that this Leia Organa is an imposter."

I thought I had gaped at him before. Now, I felt my jaw drop and figured my eyes were so wide that the orbs themselves were going to fall out of my face and roll across the deck. "I did what?"

I'll never forget what happened next, not for all of my days. Invisible steel-cabled fingers clutched my throat, yanking me around and lifting me two feet into the air. Seriously! Two feet into the air! But that wasn't the worst part, believe it or not. The cold dark liquidy wormy thing that appeared inside my brain was worse than being choked. It writhed around the inside of my skull, rubbing itself across my grey matter until I wanted to jab an icepick in my eye to get at it.

Vader was inside my mind, and he was probing my emotions!

I tried to think of anything and everything but the stolen Death Star plans. I made myself remember that one horrible hour wherein my best friend had made me watch an episode of American Idol, and followed that up with stomach-churning segments of The Jersey Shore. Hey, if Vader was going to go through my mind like a freaking card catalogue, then he could also suffer through some of the worst moments of my life, too. I ran through the first half of "Defying Gravity" from the musical "Wicked" before I started to black out.

Maybe I would wake up safe at home in my bed, and this would have all been some sort of dream brought on by too many energy drinks and too much time playing SWTOR. If that was the case, I made a mental note to lay off Red Bull and take a shotgun to my laptop the second my eyes were open.

No such luck, however. I got to enjoy the bizarre feeling of sailing through the air before crash landing against some very unforgiving stormtrooper armor. Before I knew it, Frick and Frack were hoisting me up by the arms again.

"No," Vader rumbled. "No, she is the real Senator Organa. I can sense it. Bring this one, too. There's something about her that is troubling. You have done well bringing her to my attention, Commander Praji."

"Thank you, Lord Vader."

Vader turned, collecting Commander Daine Jir in his wake as he stormed down the hallway. "Holding her is dangerous," Commander Jir was saying. "If word of this gets out, it could generate sympathy for the Rebellion in the Senate…"

Praji turned his calculating professional blue eyes back on me. And I couldn't help but think that he'd be such a hottie if he wasn't so, you know, sociopathic and stuff.

"Told you I was trouble," I croaked at him, my throat finally understanding what an orange felt like before it yielded up its juice.

His reply was to simply affix that gag back over my mouth. Then I was following Leia down the hallway and into the belly of a Star Destroyer.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thank you for favoriting and following this story! What started as a silly gift fic for Mary has turned into one of my favorite things to write. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I do writing it. If you have any suggested characters that you want to see here, drop a review and I'll do my best to work them in somehow.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun!

* * *

It took us two days to reach the Death Star, and by that time I was as loopy as a drunk Jenna Marbles. I even giggled a bit behind my gag as Commander Praji, himself, retrieved me from my cell. Thankfully, it came out as an incoherent mixture of sounds that may have been a word. I didn't want him to actually think I was that far gone after only two days of "softening up."

Because that's what it had to be, this depravation thing he was doing to me. A softening up period to leave me all unstable before the interrogators really got to work on me. Wasn't that what Thrawn or Mara Jade had called it in that one book? I wasn't mentally together enough to be certain. Observed reality was a bit wibbly wobbly at present and it was really hard to separate my imagining from my perception. Again, don't judge. You try going a solid forty-eight without (much) sleep, food or water and tell me how well you are doing. On second thought, don't.

It's not as fun as it sounds. Trust me.

I tried to shield my eyes with my cuffed hands as he drug me out of the little metal box he called a detention cell. It was the first real steady light I'd seen in forty-eight hours, his voice the first voice I'd heard in that time period, too. When I'd arrived at the detention block alongside Leia, we were pushed into adjacent cells and pretty much left to our own devices. The cells contained a metal plate that was supposed to be a bed/chair/shelf/torture device/thing and took a whole three paces to cross from one end to the other.

Commander Dilhole—excuse me, Commander Praji—had thought it amusing to leave me cuffed and gagged for that whole time. Probably payback for calling him a dumbass. Maybe I should really learn to keep my tongue in neutral? Nah…

No food came for me. No water, either. Not that the shelf/thing was particularly comfortable, but I did try to lay down and catch some sleep. It appeared that I was more successful at that than the Imp-dicks wanted. I could tell by the way they alternately turned up the environmental controls to stifling levels or turned it down to freezing.

The joke was on them in that regard. I grew up in Hell's Kitchen, New York. I was used to summers hot enough to boil your brain in its own juices and winters cold enough to congeal the blood in your veins. I caught serious ZZZZzzzz through that. But the Imps were nothing if not persistent. Failing that, they blew the dust off the Imperial Playbook and started in with the loud alarm sounds or random bright flashes of light just as I was about to drift off. It'd worked the first couple of times. But again, see my previous comment about growing up in Hell's Kitchen. Arbitrary earsplitting noises and super flares of illumination were par for the course.

If the Imp-dicks really wanted to drive me insane with sleep withdrawal (which was the point they were getting at, I believe), they should have left me in total silence and total darkness. My imagination would have done all their dirty work for them. I'd seen one too many Hellraiser movies, not to mention midnight showings of The Ring and The Grudge series. Total darkness would have had me wailing like a toddler in no time.

On the flip side, it could have been worse. They could have played that "Call Me Maybe" song on repeat over and over again, followed by all the parodies of "Gangnam Style." I'd have gleefully swallowed my own arm in an attempt at suicide, just to make the pain stop. Come to think of it, maybe that was why Praji had left my gag in place. Smart man. Still a dilhole, but ya have to give credit where credit is due, right?

I think I tried to tell him that much as he half-carried half-dragged me onto a shuttle. It was hard to tell. My attention was bouncing from random thought to random thought, so for all I knew I could have been hitting on him or chatting excitedly about the new season of Game of Thrones on HBO. What I did know was I didn't like it when he pushed my head back against the seat and thumbed back one of my eyelids. Piercing brilliance flooded my retina from the tiny pen light in his hand, and later I would realize he was checking my pupillary responses.

I would also remember that stupid smirk coming back to his lips. "Right on schedule," he said, as if that meant something to me. He typed something into a data pad and glanced at someone else I couldn't see. "Tell Lord Vader that both prisoners are ready for level one interrogation."

Both prisoners?

When the dazzling dark spots vanished from my field of view, I let my head loll to the side. Leia was strapped into a chair next to me, her hands cuffed and folded daintily in her lap. If she felt anything near what I was feeling right now, she didn't show it. She was the infuriating picture of bored annoyance. Save for a few strands of hair out of place and a tightness around her eyes, she could have been sitting through a predominantly dull lecture rather than on her way to a slow painful death.

The only thing keeping me from sliding bonelessly out of my seat was the safety restraints. It would probably be best if I at least attempted to look half as composed as she did. Taking a deep breath, I pushed myself upright. Praji's mouth tightened at that, and I suddenly found my chair turning, my view of the Princess replaced by the cold stare in his eyes. Guess he liked me being all submissive and helpless. Inwardly, I moved him down from dilhole to jizzbag.

"Really?" I growled behind my gag. "I can't even have a moment of self-respect?"

Of course, it didn't come out like that. It came out like "Rmmmy? Am cmmmt emmn hmme m mmmmmt om smmm rmsmmmmt?"

Commander Jizzbag sat down across from me, strapping himself in. That blue stare never left my eyes, and I couldn't help but stare back. They were lovely, drowning blue depths like good dark sapphires. They were made for expressions, those eyes. It was too bad he filled them with stony coldness all the time. I had to wonder what he was thinking, why he was bothering to stare at me at all. Wasn't I his prisoner? And what happened to make him so callous and emotionless?

"Stop staring at him," Leia put in with yet another bored/put upon sigh. "It's what he wants you to do. He wants you to develop a rapport with him, so when the chemicals are driving you mad with pain, you'll latch onto his gaze like a rock in a raging river. Before you know it, you'll be telling him everything he wants to hear."

The look Praji gave her was the stuff of nightmares. Cold, devoid of any sort of warmth or compassion. I jerked my head back, closing my eyes and trying to breathe deeply. But that was just as bad as staring into Praji's amazing eyes. The world lurched and spun behind my eyelids, dizziness from lack of sleep and food making my empty stomach churn.

"Don't close your eyes, either," Leia continued, as if reading my mind. "It will only make you sick. Instead, think of something comforting. Let that be your rock, not his eyes. Cling to it, and you just might survive."

"Let us hope that advice helps you as well, Your Highness," Commander Jizzbag countered coolly. "I have it on good authority that Lord Vader, himself, will be overseeing your interrogation."

I couldn't see Leia's expression, but I bet it was every bit as regal and distant as his. "Then it is Lord Vader, himself, that will answer to the Imperial Senate when I bring him up on charges. Here is a piece of advice for you, Commander, and I hope it serves you well. That girl is completely unknown to me. That makes her an innocent in this, and if she comes to harm, I will lay that blame at your feet. You and Lord Vader can keep each other company at your trials. And I highly doubt that the influential Praji family would come to your rescue then."

"And another bit of advice," she continued, this time sarcastically sweet. "You may want to check on your prisoner. I believe she's choking."

I heard Praji curse. At least I think I did over the blood rushing in my ears. Stupid me hadn't listened to Leia's advice and opened my eyes, so the world kept lurching around and around and around on me. My stomach, not to be outshone by my current state of vertigo, was giving the old college try to empty itself of the nothing in it. The gag was pulling double duty in preventing that from happening and also blocking my much needed gasps for air.

At least it did until something cool touched my forehead. My eyes opened quickly, zeroing in on two things: 1) the world was in fact amazingly suddenly stable and not looping around anymore, and 2) Praji's face was close enough to kiss. Oh, there was also the fact that he had removed my gag. Something clung to my forehead, something deliciously slender and cool. It felt similar in material to the gag fabric, just colder. And I didn't mind this one on my skin.

My breathing was starting to return to its regularly scheduled program. I was nowhere near normal, mind you, but at least I wasn't going to puke myself unconscious. I opened my mouth to thank him, and then came to my partial senses. I wasn't going to thank him, not after being put in this position by the man, himself.

And of course, because it was Commander Jizzbag I was dealing with, he somehow knew what I was about to say before I stopped. "You're welcome," he replied, backing away.

"I really hate you, Praji," I sighed.

"Then it appears I was correct. We are right on schedule."

Leia made a disgusted sound. Probably aimed at me.

* * *

Lord Vader was waiting for us when the shuttle landed in one of the docking bays in the Death Star. The Princess was lead onto the deck first, a four pack of jerkfaces (aka stormtroopers) falling into place around her as she cleared the ramp. "Welcome, Your Highness," Vader intoned, giving a somewhat mocking flourish of his cape. "We are honored by your presence."

She said nothing, keeping her regal expression fixed in place. If that upset or amused Vader, I couldn't tell. No one could tell with that mask on his face. Well, that wasn't entirely true. Vader was like those cat memes all over Facebook. The one that shows the same emotionless kitty for "happy" "sad" "hungry" and so forth. Until you got to angry. Then it was all claws and teeth and vicious expressions. The Vader version would have a hand extended in an I'll-choke-you-biotch! stance. Considering the fact that Leia was still upright, I was going to put money on the fact that he was amused.

I observed all of this from the top of the ramp, waiting for Leia and Vader to walk away and my personal set of jerkfaces to take center stage. Praji had a hold of my upper arms, my back pressed against the solidness of his chest. There wasn't anything tender in that embrace, let me tell you. But neither was it intentionally cruel. Was he attempting that rapport thing that Leia had mentioned? Making me used to him and his touch so I'd rely on him when being brain-fried on chems?

It was a good question. One I didn't let myself dwell on too much. Leia had been right about the whole dizziness thing, so she was probably right about the rapport thing, too. I shouldn't dwell on him. I should be picking out my comforting thought and making it the center of my focus.

"She's wrong," Praji said into the silence.

"I'm not talking to you, Imp-dick."

"Resorting to juvenile name-calling, are we? I had such high hopes for you."

"I know some juvenile sign language, too. Wanna see?"

"Extend that finger at me again, prisoner, and I'll break it."

I sighed. "You're no fun."

"Actually, I am," came his reply. "If you behave yourself, you might get to see that."

I blinked at that. Was that a joke? Did Commander Jizzbag Stoneface just crack a joke? Or was that some underhanded attempt at hitting on me? I wished to high heaven that my brain wasn't so fuzzy, that my legs were steady enough that I didn't have to lean on him. Not that his chest wasn't nice for leaning…

I gave my head a shake. Definitely NOT the comforting thought I was supposed to be having! "Crap-sticks. I'm not supposed to be talking to you. You can take your interrogation rapport and go screw."

"And what have I done this time to earn your ire?"

"This time? Hey, the list is long and varied, pal," I sulked. "Besides, you took that cold thingy away."

He glanced down at me for the first time, confusion all over his face. "The cold thingy… Ah, the compress. You're not getting that back anytime soon."

"Unless I answer your questions?"

The smirk came back. "See, we are building a rapport after all. You understand me quite well, and I think I am beginning to understand you."

"I hate you."

"We've gone over that, repeatedly. Shall we try another topic of conversation?"

"Sure," I chirped brightly. "How about a joke? What do you have when Commander Praji is buried up to his neck in sand?"

I may have taken things a smidge too far with that joke. He shifted me until one arm snaked diagonally down my shoulder and across my chest. A well-remembered flash of silver from his free hand had me struggling fiercely. Well, as fiercely as a week old kitten could struggle, but at least I tried.

"NO! Please, Praji, don't!" It was that thrice-damned gag again. And after nearly suffocating the last time I wore it, my body was all about getting as far away from it as it could. "I'm sorry, stop! Just please, don't!"

Somehow that restraining arm tightened, pressing the length of me against him until I couldn't move. "Are you finished with the smart remarks?" he demanded, real anger starting to warm the ice in his voice. "Be absolutely certain, for the next time I'll do worse than gag you."

I went limp in his arm, breathing so hard that I very nearly thought I was going to pass out. That terror, that absolute fear of that simple rectangle of fabric, let me know I was in worse shape than I thought. And if he could scare me with just a tiny piece of material, what else was he going to do to me?

Commander Praji shifted me again until we were standing at the top of the ramp once more with his hands on my upper arms. "I am not an angry man," he surprised me by saying, voice returning to his usual icy business. "However, I will hurt you if you force the issue. I only want answers, only want words. Is denying that worth the price of your life?"

I didn't get to answer. Our squad of jerkfaces had arrived, and Jizzbag Stoneface was marching me down the ramp to join them. Part of me was aware that the fact that pondering his last question was just another part of his building a rapport with me like Leia had said. But part of me was really considering his words. Would it be so bad if I answered some questions? I mean, what did I know that would be of any use to…

Who the freak was I kidding? Of course I knew TONS of stuff that would be of use to him and the Empire. Massive amounts of stuff. From where the Rebellion was at this moment, to where the Death Star plans were, to almost everything from every movie and every book in the Expanded Universe. When I thought of it in that light, I was probably more valuable a prisoner than even Leia! And I was going to be interrogated without the benefits of all her years of conditioning against such things.

Not good. Horribly, terribly, absolutely not good!

There was another reason that I let that thought trail off, and it had nothing to do with my upcoming torture session. It had _everything_ to do with the sight that greeted my too-wide eyes.

"You!" I shouted across the hangar bay, causing heads to turn my way. "You! You aren't supposed to be here! Holy shit, you have got to get the hell out of here, now! Who's stopping Nosehair Expo or whatever his name is in the Unknown Regions if you are here?!"

The object of my exclamations turned his glowing red eyes in my direction. "I beg your pardon?" Grand Admiral Thrawn asked with excruciating calmness.

Beside him, another blue skinned, glowing red eyed man also turned his gaze in my direction. They looked so much alike, these two Chiss, that for a moment I thought I was seeing double brought on by my near death and lack of food and junk. But then it dawned on me that one was wearing the flawless white of a Grand Admiral's uniform and the other was wearing a gorgeously decorated tunic and pants that, if the movies were to be taken as fact, were cut in the Coruscant style.

I wasn't staring at a double image. I wasn't even staring at twins. I was staring at _brothers._

"Thrass?" I screeched. "No way! You're supposed to be dead! You died saving Outbound Flight. You—"

Praji's softly spoken curse was the only warning I had before his hand clamped down over my mouth, hard. That tore my attention away from the specter of the should-have-been-dead Mitth'ras'safis, the brother of Mitth'raw'nuruodo (aka THRAWN!), and drove it right into the frightening stare of the Grand Admiral. The weight of that gaze, the menace crawling through it, scared me more than the alien glowiness of his eyes. That's what the books had gotten wrong. Thrawn's gaze wasn't scary because it glowed. It was scary because the man himself wore power and command like a second skin.

Thrawn was scary because he was _Thrawn_. No amount of species specific characterisics or white uniforms could eclipse that.

"My apologies, Admiral," Praji was saying. "She's a special prisoner of Lord Vader and as such is accorded certain dispensations on restraints. I will gag her if you wish."

He arched perfectly groomed blue black eyebrows. "On the contrary, I would like to hear what she has to say. Especially pertaining to an attempt on Lord Thrass's life. Please, let her speak."

Praji slowly let go of my face, but I didn't have anything to say for once. My nervous system had decided that it'd had enough for one day. Between stunbolts, starvation, dehydration and now visual shocks, my brain threw up its hands in surrender and checked out on me. The world grew dim and fuzzy in a way I knew no cold compress on my forehead was going to fix.

Thawn and Thrass.

On the Death Star!

I lost count of how many shades of wrong that was.

The last thing I heard was Praji explaining something about my upcoming interrogation and Grand Admiral Thrawn asking something that didn't sit well with him. Guess I was going to have to find out what that was when I woke up.

_If_ I woke up.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: First off, thanks again for the reviews and private messages! I'm so glad that the humor of the stoy is working. :D Secondly... ::fans self:: This chapter got a little away from me and um nearly pushed for an M rating. Be warned! It may not be as funny as the others, as it's dealing with an interrogation scene. I did my best, though! I hope you like it. :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Please don't sue. This is purely for fun.

* * *

I was having the most amazing dream.

And no, before you ask, it wasn't a dirty dream. It wasn't even a dream about having an unlimited shopping spree at my favorite gaming store. Although, now that I think about it, that would be a dirty dream for me. Gaming isn't the cheapest hobby in the known galaxy, and there are literally hundreds of books that I'm dying to get my hands on. Star Wars books being chief among them, of course, but that didn't mean I was opposed to a little 'fandom infidelity' with the occasional Pathfinder or Warhammer book. What can I say, sometimes even the most devoted of fans wants a little variety.

But no, tasty as that one seemed, that wasn't my delicious dream d'jour of the night. In this one I was chasing tiny little chibi Prajis around a forest, gleefully squashing them into dust with my giant classic black Converse hightops, the ones with the big white skulls on the tongues. I'd added little pink bows to the tops of those skulls and bright neon yellow and fuchsia shoelaces to add a punch of girlie screw-you to the can of whup-ass I was opening. Nothing like getting your butt handed to you by eye-wrenching pink-bowed skull feet. I'd have loved to see how he would have justified _that_ to his superiors!

I reveled in my mass destruction, tossing out little wannabe karate sounds. Like I knew the first thing about martial arts, but the sound effects made me feel all shades of mighty. To be honest, I felt a little like Gargamel chasing smurfs, complete with the nasty nasally laugh. Instead of mushrooms, the little Praji houses were miniature Death Stars which spewed more chibi Prajis like psycho ants when I kicked one over. There was a whole village worth of the jizzbags, too, so I got to make like a giant blonde Godzilla on unsuspecting Tokyo. All stompity-stomp-_STOMP_!

That oughta teach him for kidnapping me, and starving me, and uh, being a hosebeast jizzbag! There was a longer list of crimes somewhere in my brain, but at the moment I couldn't think of it. Which should have been the first sign that something was off-base. I was having too much fun Dance-Dance-Revolutioning my way through cathartic revenge though to notice.

That was until a ton of the little buttmunches got together and produced a giant rubber band slingshot. They hurtled a rock at my face (seriously, a rock! Who does that?) and it struck me square in the jugular. The pain that rocketed through my body from that direct hit was mind-blowing. Which should have been my second heads-up that something was really wrong. There'd never been a case of someone being struck in the side of the neck and feeling it all the way down to their toenails. Those two parts of the body weren't even related! I reeled, throwing my Godzilla arms around wildly and tilting my head back to roar—

—only to not be able to open my mouth at all. My eyes opened wide instead, and oh man, I wished that they'd stayed closed.

I was staring up into Praji's million dollar baby blues, and once more his face was close enough to mine to kiss. That didn't happen, of course, as he had a hand clamped down over my mouth. Which was probably a good thing, because I was screaming at the moment. Literally screaming at the top of my lungs. Like seriously not being finished with the first scream but having to stop anyway and draw in breath to let out a second one. There was something in my mouth beneath his hand, something that felt like a bite guard from the way it was clamped over my upper and lower teeth. Some other part of it was extended into my mouth, depressing my tongue.

Probably so I didn't swallow it, or clench my jaw so hard that I broke my teeth. How thoughtful of the asshats to think of that. Guess we all needed to look pretty while being tortured to death.

I couldn't give my usual commentary out loud given that my mouth was occupied. But it was more than that. I was hurting all over, so much so that my heels drummed against the steel plate I was laying on, my hands jerking against the manacles that held my arms down at my sides. The rest of me would have been attempting that lovely imitation of a fish out of water, save for the fact that Praji was literally leaning against me, the weight of him holding me down. He even had a hand twisted up in my hair, holding my head steady.

And hovering at my side, thrumming like a maniacal hummingbird, was that black 8-ball they called an interrogator droid. Extending from it was a probe, a long silvery needle at its tip. And that tip was buried into my jugular, pumping liquid agony into my veins. No amount of struggling could stop it, no amount of pleading in my eyes had any effect whatsoever on Commander Jizzbag-Stoneface-Buttmunch-Die-in-A-Freaking-Fire-I-LOATHE-YOU Praji! That thick viscous substance continued to roll through my system and I swore I could feel it make its slow progression through my limbs, turning my skin into its own cage, preventing the sweet release of digging that pain out of me.

I stared into his eyes as long as I could, pleading with all my might to make the pain stop. It even continued after I felt that needle eject from my skin.

"Almost done," Jizzbag whispered as if trying to soothe a child. "Almost done."

_Almost _done_? _You mean there was _MORE_ to come after the injection, after this pain? I didn't want to know the answer to that, but like with most everything in the past two or so days, nobody cared what I wanted. My eyes rolled up into the back of my head and I guess I started to convulse. I suddenly understood the need for restraining me this drastically. Guess this was the last part of that 'almost done.'

I don't remember much of it. Hard to remember anything when your body's electrical impulses started to kick into overdrive thanks to some outside chemical assistance.

I just know that when it was over, I understood how Wesley from the Princess Bride felt after two years of his life had been sucked away. I think I made the same whimpering cry, too. I won't tell you not to judge. I wasn't ashamed of my willingness to plead for mercy or cry. Nobody deserved to feel this much pain, not for anything in the world.

The whatever it was he put into my mouth was gone when my vision righted itself, and Praji was no longer leaning over me. He was seated beside me on the torture device/shelf/metal piece of hell. And, as if I hadn't suffered enough, he made with the thumbing back of my eyelids and the pen light routine again. I didn't have enough control over my own body to try to flinch away.

"Prisoner in cell block 1138, cell number 2188, has successfully survived the first dose of Robisardic serum," he was saying, the droid dutifully recording his casual words. "Pupillary responses on target for the dosage. Round one of questioning will begin momentarily."

He passed his palm over a sensor on the droid and a compartment popped open. Instinctively I tried to twist away, to put as much distance between myself and whatever he was reaching for. After all the pain I'd endured, after the horror staring at that interrogation droid, I honestly expected him to pull out the giant buzz saw from the Robot Chicken intro and be all gung-ho with the cutting. I certainly felt like that fowl strapped out on the table, ready for experimentation and rebuilding.

He withdrew a simple silver bracelet, which he clasped around his own left wrist, and what looked like a curved flexible piece of black metal. "Placing medical monitor now."

Remember how I said I tried to twist away before? Yeah, I tried that whole maneuver again as he reached for my face. I think I managed to roll my eyes wildly. That was about it. But it was enough to make him pause. He took off the glove on his right hand and gently cupped my chin, making me look at him.

"This isn't going to hurt you," he said gently, waving the black thingy in front of my eyes. "In fact, this will help you. What it does is measures your life signs, your neural activity. It will help me ensure that you live through this. Now hold still, please."

Like I had a choice! My limbs felt like I had been swimming in battery acid for the past hour, every muscle in my body giving tiny spasms randomly. He tilted my head to the side, and out of the corner of my eye I saw the bracelet on his wrist flash blue. That flash seemed to coincide with the minute that monitoring device attached itself over my right temple, arcing gracefully until it stopped halfway above my eyebrow.

So that's how the gag and the compress worked! Not that it mattered much now, but I'd spent the first four hours of my imprisonment trying to remove that stupid gag. Praji had had no trouble just slapping it on and off my mouth at leisure. But once it was attached to my face, it was like it melded there. Like a freaking alien facehugger, I swear. I'd have had better luck ripping off my lower jaw than removing the thing without that bracelet apparently.

The monitor gave a tiny hum as it activated, and then fell silent. He turned my head back, bringing my eyes to his. "See? No pain there. Now tell me, what is your name?"

_That_ was the big question? Not, where are the plans? Not, how the hell did you end up on _Tantive IV_? Just… what is your name?

He wouldn't let me turn my head and look away, so I closed my eyes and my mouth. Truth be told, I was probably going to start bawling if I cracked my lips. Good reason to stay silent? Yeah. Not the most noble, but it was what it was.

"You are going to have to answer me," he said just as gently as before, tracing the pad of his thumb across my compressed lips. "The more you answer, the less you will hurt. You have my word on that."

Against my better judgment, I made with the juvenile sign language. How's _that_ for passive resistance!

He sighed. "Recording off."

The humming of the interrogation ball when silent, and I braced myself for the lancing pain that would come when he snapped my middle finger. What I didn't expect was to feel his hand slide down the arm with the offending finger attached to it, his touch delicate like a lover's caress. It shocked me more than the prospect of fresh pain, especially when his fingers laced with mine and suddenly that arm was free. He lifted it slowly up and over my head, affixing it to the metal plate with a flash of that bracelet and a slight metallic click. And then he repeated it with my other arm.

It hurt. Oh man that simple motion hurt. My muscles did not want to cooperate with any movement. The gasps that left my throat were ragged, raw. Days now without water had left it parched, and the screaming from before had torn it plenty. But some of the pain had vanished in that simple movement, like motion had temporarily fought off the effects of the drug he'd given me.

Our ending position had him leaning against me again, his hands holding mine, his drowning eyes hovering inches above my own. Leia had warned me about this, about falling into him. Over and over my brain screamed that I should look away. My eyes got as far as his mouth before a cracked-up plan solidified in my thoughts. Rapport be damned. If I was going to die in this crappy little room with this crappy drug frying my limited brain cells, I was going to do it my way. I screwed up as much energy as I could and lifted my head off the shelf.

"I'm still not going to tell you my name," I whispered hotly… and then kissed him.

His surprise was instant and complete, his head jerking back from mine. But he was breathing hard all of a sudden, just as hard as I was. And those icy blue eyes were thawing, something warm moving in their depths. Oh goodie, I'd guessed correctly! It wasn't just me that had liked the feel of our bodies touching. He'd used every opportunity to touch me since the moment he'd had me scraped off the deck of the _Tantive IV_. And heaven help me, I'd encouraged it.

We had something in common, he and I, and it wasn't the prisoner/torturer thing.

It was good old fashioned lust, and in the wake of not scrumping like bunnies at every opportunity, we'd just been bitchy angry tweens to each other. Like that Bella chick from those Twilight movies (go team Jacob!). Except, you know, hotter and, uh, _real_. And he didn't sparkle in the light, thank god. The first Star Wars character that I saw sparkling like a disco ball, save for Jedi ghosts, was going to find a Death Star shoved up his ass. That is it, end of list.

"… don't normally do this."

Oh, crap. He was talking, and that meant I should probably be paying attention. Somewhere in my mental rambling, he'd shifted my legs apart and he was kneeling between them. His belt with all its silver utility boxes was already on the floor, his black uniform tunic open, the undershirt beneath that also open.

And color me a kid at Christmas, he had a scar!

A long jagged unbelievably hot one just above his heart that looked like someone had tried to knife him to death. I couldn't blame his attacker for that. Hell, _I_ still wanted to knife him to death. Just because I was licking my lips, imagining the way that scar would feel under my tongue, didn't mean I liked him.

He was still Commander Jizzbag Stoneface Buttmunch. My lust for his body had nothing to do with his personality, or lack thereof I should say. But the weight of him as he leaned down and kissed me, the taste of him as his tongue found its way past my lips, was lighting me up faster than the drugs. In fact, the endorphins released in my brain were brandishing their broadswords-of-nookie-defense and hacking through the mind-numbing pain drugs. The more I focused on him, the more I was able to move.

Heh. Leia had told me that a comforting thought would save me. I highly doubt that this was what she had in mind. But any port in a storm, right? I had to wonder if she was faring half so well right now, and then promptly double-tapped that thought in the back of its perverted head. Vader was in charge of her torture session, for crying out loud! I so did not want an imagination full of daddy/daughter… on that slab… robotic… just no. No no no no no no!

It was bad enough that she was eventually going to French her brother. Ewwwww! I was tempted to ask Praji to start up the Magic 8-Ball again and fill my head with brain bleach this time.

Thankfully, he was just as skilled at pleasure as he was at pain. The kiss deepened, his hands pulling my t-shirt free of my jeans, and all coherent thought vanished.

And yes, the arrogant dilhole was right about something else: he was _absolutely_ full of fun.

* * *

I was aware of two things as I tugged my Converse sneakers back onto my feet (the low top bright red ones, not my beloved skull-and-bow beauties). Yeah, I had a shoe fetish, but only when it came to Converse. Sue me. Anyway, the first thing being that I felt fantastic, if a bit sore from our, shall we say, less than gentle energetic activities. I was hungry as all get out, but still feeling pretty spiffy. The second thing being that I had been wrong about us.

My eyes kept tracing his shoulders as he set his uniform to rights, watching with fascination as that black fabric fit him like a glove, accentuating what I had just recently marked with teeth and nails. My palms tingled with the remembered feel of his muscled arms as I—

"Dammit," I muttered with feeling. "We were wrong."

He glanced over his shoulder, latching his belt back into place. "Were we?"

"Yeah. I thought this would get all the tension out of the way between us. That way you could go back to being the evil overlord Imp-dick and I could go back to hating you right and proper."

He turned around, folding his arms over his chest. Those eyes were back to the icy calm blue business I knew and loathed so well. Devil eyes, I now called them. Temptation, and not the good kind, made flesh. And his kisses tasted like treason. Like hot buttery rum-filled treachery. Hot buttery rum-filled treachery that I could nom by the spoonful. Hot-buttery rum-filled treachery that I could spend hours upon hours running my tongue-

"Dammit," I swore again, banishing that particular mental image with a pout. "I still want you. And I can tell you still want me, too."

It was true. What was supposed to have banished the lust so we could see plainly had only succeeded in removing the anger, leaving us both clearheaded. Able to view each other as we really were. I had no idea what he saw in me. What did I see when I looked at him? I saw a man that was arrogant, conceded, biased, racist, sexist, sexy, passionate, protective, gorgeous, determined, sexy, unflappable, sexy, gorgeous… What, do I have to draw you a road map? The guy was pure man-candy for some lucky Imperial-loyalist girl.

But as Elphaba would have said, I'm not that girl.

Nevermind the fact that we came from two completely different realities, (if this wasn't just all some weird hallucination I was having, or if I wasn't feverdreaming this from a coma (which was my current theory on why this was happening, by the way. Somehow I'd been in a massive car accident and I was waiting for a brain transplant or something)) what I saw ahead of us was two people completely sexually compatible (OMFG the man had WICKED skillz!), but were staring at each other across the giant rift in the galaxy caused by the Galactic Civil War. He was a staunch believer in what he was doing, and I couldn't get behind a government that would sanction the destruction of an entire planet.

"So, what now? You gonna use that against me?" I shot into the silence, my body beginning to tremble. "Brag to your buddies that you scored with Derpy Hooves the Turncoat Looser during her first real interrogation?"

Those eyes narrowed a moment, and he crossed over to me quickly, pulling me to my feet. For a second there I worried that I'd finally pushed him too far, that he was going to follow through with that promise to do worse than gag me if I pissed him off again. One arm around my waist, he tipped my head to the side. Staring, I realized, at the medical scanner still attached to my face. "Now, you are going to answer some questions before the Robisardic kicks back in."

My mouth opened in a tiny "O." Probably for the phrase "Oh screw me sideways!"

"Shhhh!" Praji hushed me quickly. "I'm going to turn the droid back on. But before I do that I want you to know something. I'm not the type to… normally lend myself to my prisoner, if you understand my meaning. This was a first for me. There's something about you, about the way you speak and act, that isn't normal. I don't believe you are a Rebel, but I know you know more than you let on. So please, answer the questions. I'll do what I can for you, but you have to give me something in return."

Part of my mind screamed that this was a ruse, that this was the rapport moment Leia had warned me against. I really should just keep my dumb mouth shut. But I had to trust him, at least for this instant, what with my legs starting to give out and the trembling in my body growing worse. Pain was starting to eek into my joints, a remembered warning of what was about to come back as the endorphin rush from our bumping uglies waned.

"Ask."

The tender way he held me changed, the hand that had held my face with near affection now fisted in my hair, cruelly yanking my face up to his.

"Droid on," he ordered, all frosty Commander Jizzbag Dilhole Buttmuch again. "Now, for the record, what is your name?"

"Mary Vasquez," I breathed, rattled by that abrupt shift in him.

"What is your homeworld?"

Shit. That was a question I hadn't counted on. Like they would accept the word "Earth" as a legit planet. I racked my brain swiftly, calling to mind what I knew of Praji. He was an aristocratic douchebag from a family that was the equivalent of the intergalactic Hilton clan. Save that they were bankers instead of hotel magnets. And , you know, he wasn't a braindead blonde with a tiny teacup dog. Which, now that I think about it, would have been funny to see actually...

The hand in my hair shook my head viciously. "I asked you a question. What is your homeworld? I will not ask you again."

Pay attention, in other words. Riiiiiight. Umm, lessee… he hated Inner and Outer Rim Worlds with a passion, thinking that the populace was too common and beneath the notice of the proud egocentric Core Worlds. Part and parcel of the Praji Family arrogance. So, what was a world that was a Core World but not one that would be glaringly obviously not mine? I blinked rapidly, trying to recall that one place Han and Lando had played Sabbac in Heir to the Empire…

"Abregado-Rae," I managed out. Close to Earth-ish as I was probably going to find. Third rock from its sun, a mishmash of cultures. Kinda rough-and-tumble in places. It worked.

"Good," he nodded, the pressure on my hair letting up a bit. "Are you a rebel?"

"No."

"How did you come to be on board the _Tantive IV_ if you aren't a rebel?"

"I… hitchhiked." It was the truth, in a roundabout way. It wasn't like I volunteered or paid for passage. I was just suddenly there. Wasn't that the definition of hitchhiked?

"Transmissions were received by that ship. Do you know anything about them?"

Oh, boy… I knew ALL about them. But I wasn't able to stand on my own power anymore, quiet whimpers leaving my lips when I wasn't answering his questions. The Robitussin or whatever it was was back with a vengeance. I had to be quick and close to the truth before I was helpless and spilling the WHOLE truth.

"Y-yes," I managed. "Bria Th-theran sent them. I didn't know wh-what they were. Bria w-was a f-friend. Dro-droid rece-received them so they weren't in the co-computer. That's all I know, I swear!"

"And how did you know my name?"

"Bria," I wailed, hands fisting onto his tunic. Oh, mercy me, my insides were on fire! Was it really so bad that I was throwing a dead rebel hero under the bus? I mean, she had to be dead by now, right, considering she was the one that transmitted the Death Star plans from that one hidden planet? "Bria h-had a c-crush on you. B-back when her boyfriend was in the Academy."

Total utter bullshit. But I was desperate now, close to cracking. And I had sandwiched that line of dreck between two slices of truth. Hopefully it was enough to make him believe when he checked out my story.

"Really," he said stonily. "And who was this boyfriend?"

"H-han Solo."

That part had been true. Bria and Han had been a couple, at least as far as the books went on. But that ended when he'd joined the academy. I could only hope that Praji had been on Carida at the time Han had, otherwise he'd quickly smell what I was shoveling at him.

"Good," he said again. "I believe you, for now. Recording off."

I sagged, full blown sobbing in his arms.

He carried me to the metal plate. "This will take the edge off," he said, and I felt the sting of a second injection. "I can't do more until I've verified your story. I'm sorry."

The pain wasn't going away, but it was no longer affecting me. I pushed myself up into a sitting position, feeling… nothing… really. That scared me. "The pain's still there," I muttered dazedly as he secured the binders back on my wrists. "You didn't dull it. You just made it so I couldn't feel it anymore."

He grimaced. "I said there wasn't anything more I could do right now."

"Let me guess. Most prisoners are just thrilled not to feel the pain anymore. They don't care that whatever you've given them is still wreaking havoc on their bodies," I pinned him with a stare, brushing tears off my face with the back of my hand. "That's such a douchy thing to do, Nadonnis."

"Douchy?" Praji shook his head, smirking as he gathered up the rest of his torture stuff, plugging it back into the droid. "I really don't understand half the things you say, Mary. One day you'll have to explain them to me."

Yeah, like that would happen. "You make it sound like I have a future to look forward to."

"You do," he said sharply, staring at me crossly. Gee, only together for what, an hour, and we were already having our first fight. "If you answer his questions as clearly as you answered mine, you'll survive."

"His?"

Praji grimaced again, and I got the feeling he wasn't supposed to have said anything. "You're already slated for level two, Mary."

My mouth fell open. "Under whose bloody authority?!"

"Grand Admiral Thrawn."

I almost blacked out again.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thanks again for the reviews and favorites! I try to respond to each one of them if I can. This chapter is again a little dark. Sorry about that! Also, I don't normally use things like "LOL" or "OMFG" in my writing. However, it's how the character thinks, so I hope you can forgive it. I'm not lazy with my writing, I promise!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even Mary ::glances at best friend/beta reader seated next to her named Mary:: so please don't sue. This is purely for fun.

* * *

About two hours after Praji left, I began to dry heave. The shaking that had wracked my body under the full dose of the pain crap slowly started to return, too. It wasn't anywhere near as bad as when I'd first experienced it, but it was bad enough that my teeth started to clack together audibly. When I wasn't doubled over, my tortured body trying and failing to expel the drug that was hurting it so badly, I was sitting on the shelf with my legs drawn up, my arms wrapped around them, and my head on my knees. Trying to hold my body together because it literally felt like it was coming apart at the seams.

Cold sweat didn't help the situation, as even those droplets hurt when they ran down my skin. Mostly because my skin and my insides had decided to play hot potato with side effects of the drugs. Currently my skin was left holding, enjoying the potato prize of burning like napalm. It was my insides that felt like ice, like someone had made me swallow liquid nitrogen. The contrast sounds like it would feel good, right? Like jumping into a hot shower on a cold winter morning?

As if I'd be that lucky.

It was more like the sensation of an ice cube hitting a hot griddle, flash-frying into steam. Only that steam had no way to escape, given that my skin contained it. Stupid air-tight circulatory system! I'd have given anything in that moment for someone to plug a spigot into my forehead and crank that badboy to full flow. Just to let the steam (aka the pain) vent.

But no such magical plumber showed up to my silent pleas with a bioengineered faucet all ready for plug-in-play into my anatomy. The steam continued to build until my shaking reached mini-seizure level, until the fabric of my jersey knit T-shirt (which by the way, was the most comfortable fabric in creation!) felt like steel wool against my skin. Those slight whimpers that pushed past my lips grew in tandem with the shaking, and before I knew it I was blubbering into my knees. It hurt, what that drug was doing it me. It really and truly hurt on a level I had never dreamed possible.

I was in real trouble.

"I'm dying, you peckerwood dick-brained screw-bag douches!" I screamed at the empty walls, knowing the Imp-dicks had to be watching. "Do yourselves a favor and get off your fat asses and check my vitals! This can't be what's supposed to be happening to me!"

There was no answer, of course, no immediate rush of medical personnel to take stock of my rapidly fading life signs. Maybe this was what I was supposed to be feeling, I mused in my misery. Maybe I was behaving just like they wanted me to, that I was 'right on schedule' as Commander Dilhole liked to say. After all, he had made it clear that his questions had been round one, indicating that a round two was in my possible future. I hope that wasn't the case. Because right now I would have told him anything and everything.

Rebels: on Yavin IV. Death Star Plans: On the way to Alderaan. Where was I born: New York, Earth, Alternate dimension where all this Star Wars stuff was just the talented and amazing imaginings of one George Lucas. Turn-Ons: hot guys that don't torture the bejeezus out of their one-night-stands after having said one-night-stand! Turn-Offs: Just about _**EVERYTHING**_ in the past two or more days, thank you very much!

I made a mental note to find whoever had invented this particular drug and stab him in the heart with it. I almost preferred the conscience-melting pain of the initial injection to this. This… this was lingering pain, pain that you could breathe and think through—barely—but could do nothing about. You couldn't wipe it away with hands, or scratch it off your skin. And it was everywhere at once so you couldn't even get comfortable. You were trapped with it. And with nothing to distract you, save for the four walls of your prison, you couldn't help but think about it.

Sorta like standing in line at the DMV for hours upon hours, wishing someone would end the agony and knowing it just had to run its course.

I don't remember when I tipped over onto my side, rocking myself like a baby. I do remember continuing to blubber, if only to hear the sound of my own voice. The silence was somehow worse than the loneliness, reinforcing the feeling of abandonment, making you a prisoner of your own fears. Funny how the noise of your own misery could become a focus of sorts, could give you even the tiniest bit of hope. If I was crying, it meant I was still breathing. I would take my small victories where I could find them.

Through the fever that drenched my body, I thought of Praji. No, it's not what you are thinking. This wasn't some quiet fantasy in which he randomly changes his mind about Imperial service and flies in here with a rescue squad and something to counteract the pain. For once, I wasn't thinking about his blue eyes or even what we'd done on this very slab. I was wondering what he was doing at this moment. Was he, even now, going to work on some other poor slob that happened to say the sky was blue when the Emperor said it was green?

I shouldn't have slept with him, I marveled in my delirium. I shouldn't have told him my name or anything else. For all I knew, he'd lied to me the whole time about everything. He could be, at this moment, using those weapons-grade eyes on some other female prisoner, eliciting her absolute trust before eliciting her _trust, _if you get my meaning. How many times have I seen this exact thing play out in movies and books? And there I was, too wacked out on drugs to be able to stop myself from falling for the oldest trick in the book.

That assuaged my guilt somewhat. Yeah, I was wacked out on drugs. That had to be it. That had to be the only reason I would have slept with him. I hated the douchebag. If I had been in my right mind, I would have told him as much.

And if I believed that, I was exactly as dumb as I looked. I'd wanted him, the stupid two-timing dilbag torturer. That was the simple truth. And in that moment of utter panic, when I'd felt like I would have died, there he was. Offering comfort. Offering a temporary bit of fun and respite from the nightmare my life had become. And like the moronic women I often yelled at on the movie screens, right after we'd done it I'd blabbed my story for him.

I'd given him what he wanted in every way.

No bones about it, folks, I was really and truly terrified. I wasn't the hero of this story. I was the comic relief! Leia was the hero. Luke and Han and Lando were the heroes, too. They got to live. Most comic relief sidekicks got knocked off in pointless ways just to prove the bad guys were really the bad guys. Like what happened to Wash in Serenity. Or what happened to that one side-kick dude played by Shia Lebouf in Constantine. Just ridiculous!

My stomach knotted itself again as a new wave of heat cooked my limbs. My intention had been to roll over onto my other side and dry heave off the side of the plate. I ended up rolling off the damn thing and breaking my fall with my face. Hello clumsy, glad to see at least that hadn't changed in my incarceration! Pain exploded from my nose, blood fountaining down. By the time I'd managed to work my way up onto hands and knees, my stomach did that thing again and I started to heave.

I puked up blood and bile this time. _Finally_ that got someone's attention.

Apparently it was all well and good to be broken and damaged by one of the Imp-dicks. But breaking and wrecking yourself? Nope, out of the question. They were like bullying older brothers. The kind that kicked you black and blue at home, but the moment someone else started in on you, they were all about the defense and the protecting and the healing.

"Took you… long… enough," I grated out as the door hissed open, the words barely audible through the gravel in my throat.

Electronic breathing made me change my mind about that attention, would have made it impossible to draw breath through the terror if my nose hadn't been broken_. So sorry, Vader, but I already can't breathe. You're wasting your fear on me so please find it in that computer chip you call a heart to go terrify someone else._ _KThxbye!_

That mental command didn't work, despite doing that hand wavy thing al la 'these aren't the droids you are looking for.' Darth Vader stared down at me and I missed it when another man walked in with him, hurrying to where I knelt down over my mess. That cold wormy thing appeared in my head again, roving its slimy way around the interior corridors of my thoughts. I shook my head back and forth as if that would do anything to stop him. All it managed to do was drop me dazedly into the man's arms. He wore the dark blue scrub-looking tunic of the Imperial Surgical Corps, the rank stitched above his breast revealing his rank as captain. But that was about as far as I got with the observations before that tentacle of dark will had its way with my thoughts.

"Sorry," I gasped aloud, staring up into Vader's nightmarish mask. "I'm all out of American Idol or Jersey Shore. Hated those shows, to be honest. Can I interest you in something less frightening for your viewing pleasure? Two and a Half Men might be up your alley. Two Broke Girls, maybe? If you really want to put a fine edge on your anger, how about some vintage cartoons? You seem like the Rainbow Brite kinda guy."

I was up in the air again so fast that it made the doctor gasp. But for a wonder, he'd used his own fist instead of the Force. My feet were barely scraping the deck instead of dangling a few feet above it. And he wasn't choking me… much. I was literally nose to mask with Darth Vader. Good, maybe he'd kill me now. Then I wouldn't have to worry about what the Grand Admiral and his darling brother had in store for me.

To further sweeten the prospect of my own death and thusly ending this nightmare, I started playing images of the 'star wars kid' on youtube, following that up by displaying the Xbox Connect Star Wars Intergalactic Dance Off on my mental movie screen. Was that asking for a Force Choke? Absolutely! What would you do if you had a choice: die now quickly or die later slowly under a Grand Admiral's unique "care?"

Mental note: That would make one helluva Klondike bar commercial.

"Curious," he rumbled. "Your thought patterns are very different than most I've felt in the rebellion. It's difficult to navigate, but not impossible."

"Thank you?" I croaked, the words barely above a whisper.

"Difficult," he echoed as if I hadn't spoken. "But not impossible."

That tentacle smashed hard through my dazzling repeat of out-dancing the Emperor, and I felt myself reeling like I had on the _Tantive IV_. Except this time it was all in my head. He was just suddenly there, all encompassing, crushing the meager defenses I had left in the wake of the drugs. My mind opened wide before him. He took full advantage with his searches, riding rough shod over memory and emotion. Looking… but for what? I didn't know. It wasn't the Death Star plans, or even my memory of anything connected to them. He wasn't turning down those hallways.

No, he was searching the parts of my brain that contained unconscious thoughts, the parts that controlled things like breathing and heartbeat and eyeblinks and stuff. And he pushed on that center of my brain.

Pushed _hard_.

My heart started to race, my blood pressure climbing astronomically, a rush of fresh blood coming from my broken nose. The monitor on the side of my face flashed rapidly, making an annoying high pitched sound. The world started to grow fuzzy again...

"My lord," I heard the doc try tentatively. "I need to remind you that the prisoner is going into shock or worse. If you intend to keep her alive for anything, you must hold off on your… questioning."

"You are a disturbance in the Force," Vader hissed, ignoring the doctor. "But you do not possess even the slightest characteristics of it. Most puzzling."

I was eased back down to my feet, the action almost tender compared to before. "Doctor, I want her alive and well. She'll be making the trip to Imperial Center with me when I am ready to leave."

He let go of my throat and I sagged into the doctor's waiting arms. "Yes, my Lord."

"When you are finished with this one, I want you to tend to the Princess. She, too, will be left alive and well for her trip to Imperial Center. There is something about the two of them that…"

He never finished that sentence. And I let out a tiny shriek as he pulled out of my thoughts so hard it felt like he was trying to take my brain with him. I swore I felt it bounce around inside my skull a little. The door hissed closed, and I was eased down onto the deck. The doctor passed his hand on some unseen sensor in the wall.

"This is Dr. Kornell Divini," he said. "Medical kit authorized."

A heretofore hidden slot in the wall opened, and he took the offered kit from it. He pulled what looked like a super thin iPod from the kit, tilting my head to the side and passing the thing over the medical sensor on my face. "Mary Vasquez," he read aloud. "Human, from Abregado-Rae. Hrm… that's odd. That's all the information we have for you."

"Small town girl," I muttered, trying to curl up in the fetal position again, still feverish and trembly and now having a headache the size of Mount Everest thanks to Vader's wannabe hentai brain rape. "We don't… get out… much."

Dr. Divini put a hand to my shoulder, stopping my curl. "Okay, small town girl. Are you allergic to anything?"

"Pain and… bullshit, doc. That's about it. And right now… I feel like I'm… having the anaphylactic shock to end all shocks."

He huffed out a surprised laugh, digging into his kit and pulling out some sort of injector gun, dialing in a dosage. "There's a lot of that going around right now, Miss Vasquez." With the gentle but impersonal practiced ease of a longtime surgeon, he swept my hair aside and cupped the back of my neck. "Brace yourself, this is going to sting a bit."

"Gee, more pain? Aw, shucks, doc. I didn't get you anything."

That last word was strangled short as he plunged the needle into the front of my throat and pressed the trigger on the gun. Another thick and vicious liquid pumped into me, but unlike the first, my body didn't try to violently reject it. If anything, it felt like it was welcoming an old friend. That fluid coated the inside of my tortured throat, smoothing over the areas burned by bile and my own stomach acids (thanks to no freaking food, the jerkwads!). Healing me.

While that was going on, he shifted the injector towards my face, rearranging his grip on the back of my neck so I wasn't leaning so far back this time. And then he shot me again, this time up into my left nostril. That hurt probably more than the shot in the throat. But I had the same experience in my face that I'd had in my throat. The headache was even beginning to fade, too.

"What... what was that?" I asked when he let go and that needle wasn't close enough to stick me.

He looked at me oddly, like I had just asked him what a band-aid was. "Just a standard bacta treatment. Why?"

"It tastes like smashed assholes."

That surprised laugh that left his lips wasn't huffed. "I've never heard it put quite that way before, but I image it's a more accurate description than 'tastes bad.'"

I fell silent as he riffled through his kit, replacing the bacta gun for another injection device. When he turned back to me, I had managed to push myself up to a sitting position, leaning against the shelf/bed/thing. My knees were still drawn up to my chest, my cuffed hands cradled between them and my chest. The shaking was still there, the aching wretched pain and fever, too.

"Here," he said when he found what he was looking for. "Give me your arm. This is for the fever. You weren't too far off the mark, Miss Vasquez. You are having an allergic reaction to the Robisardic. Whatever it was that Lord Vader did to you did not help that situation."

"My name's Mary," I shook my head, drawing away from him. "And don't bother. Ya'll are just going to hurt me again. If you want to do me a solid, just give me more of the Robitussin and O.D. me on the spot."

"You can call me Dr. Uli. Everyone else does. And I do not know what Robitussin is," he replied, rolling up the sleeve of my T-shirt to get at my shoulder. You know, since I wasn't being all cooperative and giving over my wrists. "But I will not give you Robisardic on purpose. I've already coded the allergy into your monitor. You won't be receiving it again."

I shook my head. It was all I could do as he held my arm steady and stuck me yet again with another needle. I was beginning to understand how a pincushion felt.

"Seriously," I sighed, frustrated. "I'm going to have Level Two done to me soon, whatever the crap that is, so really stop with the making-me-feel-better's, doc. They're just going to break me down again, and I don't want to remember what it felt like to feel good before they knock my feet out from under me for a second time. I don't… I don't think I could handle that."

He stopped what he was doing, lips compressing so tightly that it looked like he had no lips, just a slash for a mouth. "No, you're not. You're not undergoing Level Two."

It was my turn to lift eyebrows like I had a right to. "Uh, yeah, I am. Not unless you think you have the right to countermand a Grand Admiral."

"Which Grand Admiral?"

Oh, like it made a difference? The term "Admiral" was scary enough. It denoted an arrogant dangerous walking sack of shit in a tailored uniform (see example: Admiral Motti. There wasn't a douchebag synonym bad enough to describe that dude). Adding a "Grand" in front of "Admiral" was like adding the exponent "99" over a 9. Just mind-blowingly astronomically worse. And Thrawn was the worst of them, like imaginary numbers worse! And Doc Uli had the audacity to ask which?

I shuddered, this time at remembering imaginary numbers from my college algebra course. I'd barely escaped that class with my sanity intact and a "C." Note to self: next time Vader tiptoes through my mental tulips, hit him up with Dr. Mera's imaginary numbers lecture. If that wasn't enough to have him running for the nearest airlock, I don't know what was.

"Uh, probably the only one on this giant hurt ball you call a battle station," I muttered, trying unsuccessfully to banish Dr. Mera's droning voice from my thoughts. "Grand Admiral Thrawn."

Uli sucked in air at that, letting it out in a low whistle between his teeth. "What does he want with you?"

I sighed, closing my eyes… and for once did not feel dizzy for it. Whatever Doc had given me had worked and worked quickly. "You want the long or the short story?"

"Neither," he said at last, closing the medical kit. He rose, sliding it into the compartment and then pushing the compartment back into the wall. "It's none of my business. And while he is a Grand Admiral, I do not work for him. At present, I work for Lord Vader. His instructions were that you were to be 'alive and well.' That can't happen if you undergo Level Two."

He typed something into his iPod thingy and then pressed it close to my medical monitor. "There. Lord Vader's instructions are part of your record. I don't know what kind of authority that a Grand Admiral has in these kinds of situations, but I doubt it's enough to undo Lord Vader's will. I'm also ordering food and water brought to you."

I started to shake my head. He stopped that nonsense with one of those doctor I-know-better-so-stop-arguing looks, clipping the ipod thingy to his belt. "You may be Lord Vader's prisoner, and this Commander Praji's charge, but you are also my patient. My name is on those orders. And you'll follow them."

I watched him start to go, and I couldn't help myself. If he was willing to stand up to to the likes of Thrawn for little ol' me, he needed to know. "Uli?"

"Yes?"

"Get the hell off this Death Star, okay? Like now," I looked him in the eye. "It's going to blow and soon. If you like pushing breath past your teeth, you'll gather anything you care about and get off of it the second you walk out that door."

He paused, staring at me with a strange sort of look on his face. "You really are a rebel, aren't you?"

"No, hon. I'm just someone who knows too much for her own good."

We looked at each other for a long moment, and, as he left, I hoped that moment was enough for what I'd said to sink in.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Thanks for sticking with me on strange story. :) As always, I welcome reviews and comments and private messages. I respond to every one of them that I can. I promise that Mary is going to catch up with the rest of ANH soon. In fact, I have the next two chapters plotted and pretty much written. Humor is soon to take center point again. This one is for all the Thrass and Thrawn requests.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun.

* * *

The good doctor Uli was true to his word. Not fifteen minutes after he left, I got my food and water. It wasn't much, mind you, and it came in the form of a ration bar about the size of my open palm and a four ounce bottle of water. You weren't about to find me arguing about it. What was the phrase about looking a gift horse in the mouth? Never understood that one to be honest, but if it meant be thankful for what was in front of you, I was all over it.

My repast was delivered by one of those tiny little RC radio-car looking droids, like the one that Chewie yelled at in A New Hope before it ran away really fast. Except this one looked as if it had a tray welded to its back like some kind of giant flat turtle shell. Secretly I named him Michelangelo. You know, from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles? The little fella actually scooted in from a teeny-weenie slice that opened at the bottom of my cell door. I had to admit it was cute. Even in my scared-and-hungry delirium, I still wanted to pick it up and squeeze it like a puppy.

That was until I noticed the tasty vittles it had on its back.

The ration bar was the color of uncooked oatmeal and sported about the same taste and texture, like unprocessed cardboard. But as the saying goes, beggars can't be choosers. I all but leapt on the bar like a wild blonde wookie, probably making that yowly-gargling sound, too. It scared the hell out of Michelangelo, though, and sent him scurrying back through the doggy door with an electronic wail of terror. Later, I would feel really bad about that. I mean, how I would I feel if some giant psycho nearly pounced me to pieces when all I was doing was my job?

Come to think of it, I sorta dealt with that on a daily basis. Every time I went to work tending bar. Yeah, I know, it sounds redic, what with me having a BS degree and junk (and no, that didn't stand for Bull Shit, thank you very much). My degree was in cultural anthropology. No, not like the TV show "Bones." That's forensic anthropology, which was the degree I should have gone after if I wanted to do things like, I don't know, eat and survive after graduation. That's what I got for going after a degree in what I loved versus what actually paid.

Poverty was pretty much what my degree qualified me for in a major city like New York. And career placement at my college had found me a job as a museum assistant. That translated into "hey, get me some coffee" or "dude, some kid just hoarked chucks all over 'X' exhibit. Go clean it up, will ya? Janitors aren't allowed to touch the exhibits, so someone with skill has to clean that part."

Yeah, skill. Riiigggghhhttt. I had a forty-thousand dollar piece of paper that said I was allowed to spray Windex across the faux grass and rocks that was the base of the exhibits. Because I needed to spend another forty-thousand to get a second piece of paper (re: master's degree) to be allowed to spray Windex on the _actual_ exhibits, themselves. Oh, and the recompense I was paid for these 'mad skillz' of mine? Minimum wage.

I kid you not. The freaking janitors, thanks to their Union, made triple what I made. And half of them didn't even possess an 8th grade reading level. Did I also mention the fact that, since I was working as an assistant to the actual doctorate-level people that studied these exhibits, I had to perform my duties in heels, hose, business skirt and professional blouse?

It was at a wonderful glorious moment six months after graduation, when cleaning what looked like partially digested pea green soup from a plastic banana leaf for what felt like the millionth time, that I realized I didn't want to do this anymore. So I gassed up the short bus, made sure I had my permission slip signed, and trundled myself off to bartending school. I figured that if I was going to be cleaning up barf for the rest of my life, I might as well get paid decent for it. Plus, I got the added bonus of wearing whatever I wanted to work, and when some grabby douche got too "hands on with my display," I got the thrill of signaling a walking brick wall to bounce his sorry patootie out of my bar with no questions asked.

Yup, me and my youtube hero Jenna Marbles. Both crying over our degrees to pump ourselves up before going to work to be pounced by deadbeats and drunks. We were living the American Dream, baby.

I'd finished my ration bar about the time my mental rant about my (lack of) career options ran down, the water going down just as fast. Try as I might, I couldn't bring my self-control in line to pace myself, even with my brain screaming that I hadn't had anything for three days almost, and flooding my tummy with half-masticated chunks of bar was probably going to make me give it right back again. My ravenous hunger won, and I was licking the wrapper before I knew what I was doing.

Don't judge about the wrapper licking. Okay, do judge. I was embarrassed about that, but more so with the disappointment that welled in me when I realized I couldn't eat the wrapper, too. Seriously. Hunger does weird crap to your brain. And yes, before you ask, if there had been unprocessed card board in my cell, I'd have tried to eat that, too.

Man, I was such a wuss. No wonder Leia had looked at me like I was scum beneath her boots when Praji had captured us.

The fact that I was thinking about Leia—about anything other than my own misery, really—was a sign that I was returning back to my pre-stunbolt-appearing-on-the-_Tantive-IV_ self. Not one hundred percent yet, but I was getting close. Even managed to lie down on the shelf after my meal and catch some uninterrupted sleep. It was when I woke up that I realized the folly of my predicament. I had no idea how much time had passed from the moment I was on the _Tantive IV_ to now. Did I sleep through Had Luke and Han rescuing Leia? Was the attack on the Death Star already taking place?

Was I about to be cremated before my time when this bloated testicle of a space station went KA-BOOM?

Calm down, I told myself, pacing the length of my cell. It couldn't have been more than three days, right? I mean, a person died from dehydration in three days, didn't they? Part of my mind whispered that I would have known the answer to that question if I had gone for forensic instead of cultural anthropology. I gave my ego the mental finger and went back to my pacing. Enough A-holes on this boat were trying to tear me down physically and mentally. I didn't need to help them do it.

I wasn't dead, I reasoned, so it couldn't have been more than a day or two. If my memory of A New Hope was accurate, and I liked to pride myself on the fact that it was, then Luke was just now meeting Ben Kenobi in the deserts of Tatooine. Which meant I had about four days to get off this monstrosity and out of the blast radius.

I could work with four days, I rationalized. And my cell was right next to Leia's according to Praji. I remembered him saying cell number 2188. Leia was in 2187. The walls were thick here, but I was fairly confident that I would hear a blaster fight going off right behind my door. I had time.

Time to plan to… do what? That was the magic question.

I paced as the minutes crawled by. Did jumping jacks to keep myself entertained, well as much as I could with cuffed hands. I tried push-ups, too, but after three, I gave up on that crap. I was here to be tortured by Imp-dicks. See my previous statement on not helping them tear me down. Yeeesh!

In one of my more bored moments, I clicked my heels together three times. I mean, maybe it would work? My beautiful shoes were fire engine red Converse sneakers after all, and when I'd found them in a vintage store it had felt like magic. Like fate had drawn us together. And if I could believe that I was in the Star Wars universe, why shouldn't I believe in the slim chance that I had magic shoes, too?

It's amazing what you could rationalize when boredom and fear threatened your morale.

"There's no place like home," I whispered in my best Dorothy Gale imitation, clicking my heels together three times. "There's no place like home."

I opened my eyes. Nope, still in Suck-Land. I tried again. Maybe something a little closer would work? Maybe the magic had a range?

"There's no place like off the Death Star…"

Failure number two greeted my vision. One more and I had a hat trick.

"There's no place like outside of this cell, kicking Praji's ass…"

After disappointment number three, I gave up on the magic shoe theory and went back to pacing. Then jumping jacks again. And when the jumping jacks got old, I simply lay down on the floor with my legs propped up against my shelf/bed/torture thingy, hands behind my head for a pillow, and started to make up my own songs to amuse myself. Why not? What else was I going to do, sit and sob? Bleh. Been there, done that. Wasn't looking forward to the repeat performance. I'll take a pass, thanks.

"A is for asshat, which fits Vader the most," I crooned aloud, smirking. "B is for battle station that is soon to be toast."

Hey, how about that? Apparently torture and anguish _**is**_ good for my poetry skills. Maybe all those emo kids had it right. You needed to know deep emotional pain to be able to rhyme like a small god. I should probably apologize to all those kids in high school that I called whiny freaks, too.

No, that would take too long. And frankly who had the energy to hunt down that many people? I'd make it up to them by buying every CD that My Chemical Romance had out and listen to them faithfully… until I came to my senses or slit my wrists from the emo overload. Whichever came first.

Anywho back to my rhyming.

"C is for Commander Praji who's soon to be dead meat," _When I get out of here_, I amended silently. "Ch is for… hrm… umm…"

Is there a word that begins with Ch that fits here? And why had I chosen the Spanish Alphabet anyway? Maybe the four extra letters meant more time with this distraction? That must have been it. My stomach rumbled painfully reminding me that the ration bar hadn't lasted very long. AH! That was it!

"CH is for Churros that I'd dearly love to eat!"

Hah! Take that English teachers who thought I wasn't paying attention. I could do iambic pentameter with the best of 'em. Provided that that's just a fancy word for rhyming, right? Hrm, probably should look that up when I get home too.

"D is for ... uh … dumbass? No, we used 'ass' before in the letter A. D is for… dickwads who lock up innocent girls! E is for…" Execution? I shuddered. No, not ready to go down that road yet. "E is for… Emperor who should wear his hair in curls!"

I giggled at that. Did the Emperor even have hair? Did he wear that hood to cover male pattern baldness? You would think that in a dimension with bacta, they'd have a cure for losing your locks. Still, the idea of seeing the Emperor in golden Shirley Temple curls turned my giggles into snorts of laughter. Give the old boy a giant lollypop instead of a light saber and a caption that read "What Uncle Palpy does in his spare time" and I had an internet sensation waiting to happen.

"F is for… uh… for…" I kept snerking so hard the thought of Palpatine singing "Good ship lollypop" that I could barely get the words out—

—until the door to my cage popped open. And I found myself staring wide-eyed at an upside down pair of Chiss Wonder Twins.

"F is for 'fucked' which surely I am…" I gulped. "Oh, shit, son…"

Thrawn somehow managed to stare down his nose at me, which was feat in and of itself considering his head was pointed downward. Normally you had to have your head tilted upwards in an arrogant kinda way before you could pull that off. Yet he managed it just fine, tossing in a goodly amount of annoyance to round out his displeased expression.

Probably because I'd stolen the intimidating thunder from his grand entrance. He'd pulled to a rather abrupt halt instead of stepping on my face, Thrass nearly colliding into his back. Remember, my cell was tiny and I wasn't exactly a petite woman. Lying down on that floor like I was took up a good portion of the standing space.

Heh. Maybe he should have checked the monitors before strolling into my cage like he owned the place.

Thrass, on the other hand, tried to hide a smirk behind his fingers. "Undoubtedly this startling conversationalist is the mastermind behind my eminent demise," he commented dryly.

Hey, was that a dig on my poetry? I was rather proud of my work, given my situation.

"Indeed," came Thrawn's smooth reply.

Goodness gracious, the man could make a dirty word sound like velvet. Thrass's speech patterns were exactly the same as his brothers, all smoothly modulated suaveness. I almost asked them if Cheunh and French were the same language. Like the Matrix had taught me, cursing in French was like wiping your butt with silk. Bet saying that in Cheunh sounded smooth, too.

"… extracting information from her will present a unique difficulty without the interrogation droid. I'm afraid a conversation will have to suffice in the meantime. Much more civilized but much less effective."

Crap, pay attention! I zeroed in on only one thing in that conversation. He'd just said PeeWee Herman's Negative Word of the Day: Interrogation. I let out the obligatory shriek and somehow managed to leap onto the shelf and wedge myself into the farthest corner of my cell that I could, heart doing its imitation of a crack-addict with a kettle drum.

"No interrogations!" I shrieked again, pointing at my face. Well, at the medical doohickie welded to it. "Vader said no! It's all coded on my medical thingamagiggy here. You can't!"

Thrawn's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Miss Vasquez, I only want to chat."

"You _never_ just want to chat. It's never just a _chat_ with you."

Those eyebrows rose higher. "And how would you know that? If memory serves, you and I have never had a conversation."

Oh, screw me sideways. You'd think with how much Thrawn fiction I've read over the years, (yes, I was a card carrying member of the Thrawn fanclub) I'd have figured out that telling him one single solitary word would give him enough information to know where I was from, what my mother had for breakfast the day I was born, and when I was going to sneeze next. I'd just said thirteen words to him in that last sentence alone. Might as well have handed him my autobiography.

"Miss Vasquez, I do not have a lot of time to devote to this," Mr. Know-It-All said, some of the polish chipping away from his voice. "Allow me to be blunt. In our brief meeting in the hangar, you insinuated that you knew of two specific events. I want to know what you know. More to the point, I will know what you know. And I will know it swiftly."

Somehow I got the feeling that Leia's comforting thought technique wasn't going to help me this time. It was mindboggling to admit, but I was more afraid of what I would say to these two men than I was of Vader's Hentai mind-rapey-tentacle or Praji's make-you-scream drugs. Vader and Praji were only after certain things, certain pieces of information before they would be done with me. Thrawn would wring me dry of everything, perform a complete mind-shifting on me and _still_ come after me for more.

I stared up into those glowing red eyes and knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he'd make me sing like a canary without the use of drugs or Force powers. Without even laying a finger on me. The Godfather had nothing on him.

"You're frightening the girl, Thrawn," Thrass put in, shouldering past his brother and taking a seat on my shelf. "Allow me to try things my way."

That didn't sound good. I shrunk back as far as I could, until I thought my shoulders were going to snap in half so my spine could meld with the forty-five degree angle of my corner.

Thrass's lip twitched in an almost smile at that and he held out his hand to me. "Come here, Miss Vasquez. I will not lie to you and tell you that you have nothing to fear from me. But neither do you have anything to gain with your silence. Our questions will be answered. My question to you, personally, is this: what do you want in exchange for your answers?"

"To go home," I blurted honestly, staring at his hand like it was a blue skinned five headed hydra. "To wake up from this nightmare."

"Both of these things are in my power to grant you," Thrass replied easily. "Now that I know what you want, will you at least listen to what I want in return?"

Trap Trap trap trap trap TRAP! A chorus of Admiral Ackbars sang that across my brain space, dancing in a little conga line and trampling Alvin and his brothers. He knew it was a trap. I knew it was a trap. But what choice did I have? Like with Praji, I had to give them something if I wanted something in return. And right now the Mitth Brothers were calling the shots.

And, like with Praji, I instantly wracked my brain for everything I knew on the two of them. Both seemed to value the same things. Things like honesty, loyalty, and competency. Both were tactical geniuses, though one chose to take his skills to the actual battlefield while the other chose the political arena for his fights. Thrawn had once implied that lying to him was the fastest way to die. So, guess the plan of attack was truth, or as close as I could come to it without seeming totally mental.

I extended my cuffed hands to Thrass, slowly reaching to clasp his fingers. He frowned harshly, and I nearly jerked back in horror. Didn't he want me to touch him? Did I just break some unknown Chiss custom or something? Holy hell, what had I misinterpreted this time?

Slender blue fingers caught my arm above my wrist, halting my retreat. "This was absolutely uncalled for," he said darkly, staring at my cuffed hands and the mass of bruises that were pretending to be my wrists. Binders and jumping jacks weren't friends, as I had found out recently. "Thrawn, give me your code."

Thrawn did as was requested and the binders fell away. Thrass's fingers closed over mine, the soft skin somehow more restraining than the cuffs had been. I was sitting next to him before I knew it, Thrawn shifting to stand against the wall by the shelf, ensuring I couldn't retreat into my happy little corner place. His eyes weren't exactly glaring down at me, but they weren't happy, either. And Thrass was staring at me with intense honesty.

It reminded me of Mel Gibson and Danny Glover in those Lethal Weapon movies.

Wonder Twin Powers Activate: Form of good cop/bad cop!?

If I wasn't so scared, I would have rolled my eyes. Really, this was the best they could come up with? This was what I was so afraid of?

"Lord Vader has left orders that you are to remain unharmed at the moment," Thrawn remarked casually into the silence, as if sensing my fear of them had faded. "I would remind you, Miss Vasquez, of my previous statement. My time is limited and it does come with a price. You may not pay it immediately, but I will collect payment eventually."

A tremor went through me at that, Alvin and his brothers waving manically at me as they kicked Ackbar out of my head and began again with the singing. This song was entitled "Heeeeyyyyy stupid Lady!" and was sung to the tune of Gangnam style. Sheeesh! Even a galaxy far, far away wasn't far enough to escape that song.

"So in other words, talk now, sweetheart, or talk later when you'd rather hear screams than words?"

Bad Cop (aka Thrawn) inclined his head fractionally, a slight smile on his lips. "Precisely."

Thrass tugged on my hand, and I felt his fingers entwine with mine, drawing my attention back his way. "Let's begin with something simple," Good Cop said. "Who are you, really?"

I blinked at that. "Mary Vasquez," I said, confused. "You already know my name. I told Commander Praji everything he wanted to hear."

"Yes, I've reviewed your first and second interrogations in detail, Miss Vasquez," Bad Cop added.

It took me a moment to realize the second interrogation must have been Vader's tap dance across my head. Praji had been right: his questions had only been round one. Did that make this round three? Or was this "conversation" a whole new game?

"Intelligence has also determined the validity of your claims," Bad Cop was saying. "The rebel Bria Theran trasmitted the stolen plans and lost her life for it some thirty-six hours ago. Your knowledge of Commander Praji was also verified. The Correllian Han Solo was indeed a cadet at the time Command Praji was assigned as a teacher. Princess Leia also admitted that you must have been a stowaway on board her ship, as she has no knowledge of you at all. Lord Vader is satisfied to a certain degree," his tone turned frosty. "But I am not."

"I do not believe you are from a small town on Abregado-Rae, Mary Vasquez," Bad Cop continued, eyes narrowing dangerously. "Even a town on such a planet that does not keep detailed records would have some recording of education or medical history. You could not gain passage on any ship without that. Yet it appears the very first record of Mary Vasquez began right here on board the Death Star."

Oh, son of a… Really? Effing really? He'd taken the time to research my story that deeply? I jerked away, trying to pull my hand from Thrass's. Dammit! Once again my big mouth got me into more trouble than I could handle. If I'd let Commander Dilhole gag me on the shuttle, I never would have screamed at Thrawn or Thrass. And then I'd be free of this crap, because Vader was satisfied! Son of a ….

Thrass wasn't having any of my resistance, and he was stronger than he appeared. A _lot _stronger. He dropped the Good Cop routine and yanked me forward by our interlocked fingers, twisting my arm behind my back sharply and upward. I ended up practically sitting in his lap, back rigid straight and my arm feeling like it would snap in half if I so much as breathed wrong.

"Jesus!" I hissed between gritted teeth. "At least buy me dinner and a movie first, pal!"

Jackhole (my new name for Thrass) twisted his hand just minutely and I swore to all that was holy I felt my joints creak like a freaking old hardwood floor. "Your juvenile attempts at humor are not appreciated right now, Miss Vasquez," he said softly into my ear. "Insinuate anything of a sexual nature between you and I once more, and I will break this arm."

"Vader will break you in return," I shot back just as softly, just as pissy.

"It may very well be worth it," Jackhole replied, but I noticed the pressure eased up on my joints… slightly.

He wove his other arm around my waist until I was nestled as much as possible against him. Even then, it wasn't comforting or suggestive. It was just so his brother could get a better angle in which to loom over me.

This time I did roll my eyes. "You guys need to get a new playbook," I hissed between clenched teeth. "Both Vader and Praji have done the whole loom-and-leer over me all day. You're the freaking Chiss Wonder Twins. At the very least you could be more creative."

It was the wrong thing to say. I knew that the second the words left my lips. Because Thrawn smiled. He actually smiled, and that expression had nothing to do with amusement. If anything, it was an anti-amusement smile, like a Disney Villain smile. Maleficent's smile right before she turned into a dragon and tried to eat Prince Phillip!

Maleficent bent down, capturing my chin with strong fingers. "I can be very creative, Miss Vasquez. You will learn that in good time."

Jesus, what, did they teach a freaking class at the Academy on Heart-Freezing-Smiles? Praji did it to me, and now Thrawn? I was willing to bet good money that Vader would have used one on me, too, if he wasn't all burnt bacon under that suit of his. But while Praji promised pain with his smile, Thrawn promised something worse. I didn't know in that moment what that 'worse' would be, but my dumbass mouth had just challenged him to find out.

Challenge accepted, that smile seemed to say. And oh, did Thrawn love a challenge.

I hated myself in that moment.

"Too late to take that back?" I tried, feeling the breath freezing in my lungs.

His soft laugh chilled me more than his smile. "Far too late. Now, who are you working for, Miss Vasquez? While you may not be a rebel, you are certainly employed by someone. You will tell me who that is and the real reason you were on board the _Tantive IV_."

It took me a moment to catch on to what he was saying. And when it hit me, I thought I was going to throw up my ration bar. Great. Just freaking perfect! In typical Thrawn fashion, he'd ignored the forest for the trees.

He'd put together the events of my appearance in a way that was near perfect, save for the conclusion he'd drawn. Though it made sense in his universe, I hated to admit. He wouldn't believe that I'd just magically teleported onto that ship anymore than I wanted to believe it. So his overly brilliant brain had concocted the assumption that there was a third player in the race for stealing the Death Star plans, and I was that person's courier.

I could work with that, I surprised myself by thinking. Just as I could work with the slight tension that appeared in Jackhole whenever Vader's name was mentioned. He didn't like the big robotic dickwad anymore than I did. _C'mon, Mary,_ I screamed at myself. _Everyone's called you a freak for eating, drinking, and breathing Star Wars for years. Put that knowledge to use!_

I didn't have to fake the fear coursing through me, or the fact I could barely breathe. Not with Maleficent staring down at me like he was trying to decide which piece of me tasted best. Stupid man-eating dragons!

"Car'das," I whispered, the name so faintly and breathy as to be almost inaudible.

Dragon-boy let go of my chin. "Jorj Car'das," he repeated.

I nodded, hanging my head. Here came the delicate balance between lie and truth. If he caught me lying to him, I was going to wish I had died when he finally got his hands on me again. And I'd be an idiot to think he wouldn't. He'd pursue me to the ends of the galaxy, all because he thought I had something to do with an attack on Thrass's life, all because I had to have blurted that Thrass was supposed to be dead.

"He told you about Outbound Flight, didn't he?" Jackhole added, voice like a comforting purr in my ear.

Again, I nodded. It was sort of the truth! I mean, Outbound Flight _was_ written from Jorj's perspective…

"And why would he tell you about that?" Male Maleficent asked.

"I don't know," I shrugged… or tried to with Jackhole twisting my arm. "Because he likes to play mind games with his people? I mean, he's obviously still loyal to you guys. He told me that Ja—Thrass died with some Jedi named Lorana Jinzler, that they crash-landed with what was left of Outbound Flight onto some planet. Guess that was a big fat lie."

Thrass looked up at Thrawn, and the two exchanged a series of words in a language I would never be able to repeat. Like French. Man, I sucked at French.

"And your knowledge of my mission in the Unknown Regions?" the Chiss-dragon asked at last.

I wanted to say rumor and idle speculation, but that would have been seen for the crap sandwich that it was. "Car'das knows many things."

Lame, I know. But it was the best that I could come up with. How was I to justify that I knew the truth, that Thrawn and the Emperor had created the whole scandal that had supposedly sent him into the Unknown Regions as a punishment. In reality… well in_ this_ reality, I should say… it was nothing more than a clever way to send Uncle Palpy's favorite rabid war dog out to conquer systems without having to deal with the tree hugging hippies in the Senate whining about conquest and sentient rights and all that mumbo-jumbo.

And if we were calling a spade a spade, it would be fair to mention that Thrawn had his own separate agenda for wanting to leave anyway, but that was between Thrawn and… uh now I guess Thrass. No way in creation I could have known any of that. At all.

So for once I kept my damn mouth shut. Again, they exchanged words. And Thrawn's hand slipped under my chin, two fingers tapping to tell me to raise my eyes.

"You now owe me a debt, Mary Vasquez," he said quietly, too quietly. "You have lied to me at least once in this conversation. If I learn that it was more than once, you will owe me your life instead. And no amount of commands from Lord Vader will alter that."

He glanced over at his brother. "We have enough to go on for now."

Jackhole nodded, releasing me as the two of them headed for the door. It opened.

"Lord Vader's commands are to be carried out," Thrawn said to someone outside the door. "Have her needs tended to, and have a note placed on her record. After the Lord Vader is finished with her, provided there is anything left of her at that point, her custody reverts to me."

"I hate you," I blurted.

He never turned. Neither did his jackhole of a brother. But they laughed, and to me it sounded like a promise of bad things to come.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Thanks again for reviewing, messaging, and going insane enough to follow/favorite this story. Mary thanks you, too, when she's not glaring at me for writing her into these situations. But hey, it makes for great story! Keep sending comments and suggestions. Every little bit helps and I do my best to respond to every one of them. Apologies for the last chapter and my protrayal of Thrawn to those that didn't like it. As a reviewer once told me, it's very hard to showcase another character with Thrawn in the scene. I was trying to put more Thrass into the story, and I think I compromised his brother as a consequence. My bad! I'll fix it next chapter, promise!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun!

* * *

Vibe showers are bizarre, let me tell you. Ever had the experience of standing in front of a speaker at a concert or at a club, when the music blasting out of it is enough to shake your heart in your chest and make your vision rattle around like dice in a cup? The vibe shower was a lot like that, except not as intense. And it removed dirt particles from your skin, too. Unlike concert speakers, which seemed to expel more dirt than sound.

The cleanser I was given smelled heavily of astringent and felt like liquid razor blades when I rubbed it over my flesh. Probably full of crap that was intended to sanitize more than nourish the skin. Really, was everything here calculated to make for the worst experience possible? It was like being at a reverse Holiday Inn Express. But instead of saying "I can do anything. I spent the night at a Holiday Inn Express," I should be saying "I want to kill everything in sight. I spent the night at the Death Star!"

Hrm. Probably shouldn't use that slogan. I bet dollars to donuts half the creeps on this station would take that as a compliment. Or print it up on T-shirts and hand them out at the next recruitment drive. Yeah, the last thing I wanted to do was join the Imperial propaganda machine. The nifty little door prizes for that select group of haters probably included my own personal lobotomy and an ISB unit that made the Gestapo look like the freaking boy scouts.

I shuddered at that thought, glancing down at by body and the red patterns blossoming to life on it. You know, where the acid—I mean _cleanser_—took off most of the top layer of skin, exposing the next layer to the joy of recycled Death Star air. I supposed that was just another part of the interrogation, another added quip of smarting to an already unbearable experience. But at least I was clean. Three days with no shower was worse than all the pain meds in the world.

I was so going to give this place a negative review when I got home. Worst vacation spot ever!

"NO!" Praji practically jumped on me, catching my hand before I brought the acid/cleanser near my face. "No, not there. Don't get it near your eyes or your hair. The cleanser will eat through it."

Oh, yeah, Commander Dilhole was back, in case you hadn't noticed. He'd been standing on the outside of the shower, scrutinizing me as I did what most people do in showers—wash. There was no door to separate me from him, no wall to allow any modicum of privacy. That wasn't something a scumbag prisoner was allowed apparently. So he got the whole show, taking me in from head to toe, seeing all my tattoos and stuff.

There was the Hello Kitty on my right butt cheek (Don't ask. It was supposed to be a bitchin' firebird but Yours Truly, here, was too drunk at the time to know what the crap was happening). There was also the dolphin on my left calf muscle, and the black-and-white yin-yang disk nestled in green flame on my right shoulder blade. He'd missed most of these during our romp on the shelf, given that only the minimum amount of clothing had been removed to allow for our happy-fun-time. Now he examined the full picture.

And when he thought I wasn't looking, I saw his tongue lick over his full bottom lip ever so slightly, those blue eyes flashing for a change. Mayhap he had a tattoo fetish to match mine for scars? If I wasn't so pissed off with him, I might have invited him to find out if that dolphin tasted like ocean water, or if the flames around the yin-yang were really hot enough to burn…

But I didn't. I was pissed. And according to him, I had no right to be because he was doing everything he could to help me. According to me? Well… I… that is to say… crap. I couldn't believe I was sympathizing with him! I viewed him like I would a cop who was running an interrogation on someone he knew was innocent of all charges, yet the evidence of guilt pointed heavily in her direction.

Congratulations, Mary, you've just been crowned Miss Stockholm Syndrome 2012 (or 0 BBY if we wanted the Star Wars date). What are you going to do next?

Oh, I'll tell you what I was going to do next, and it wasn't a triumphant march into Disneyland!

I jerked away from him when he touched me, all but throwing the bottle of cleanser at his perfectly spotless uniform. The gunk had eaten every hair off my body thus far, leaving me as smooth as a newborn. I hoped it ate a gaping hole in his tunic.

"Don't!" I snapped. "Don't touch me. I'm tired of everyone touching me. You, Vader, Thrass, Thrawn, those jerkfaces you call stormtroopers. Just don't!"

Those eyes went from flashing to hurt to ice in the space of a breath. "Do not blame this on me," he had the audacity to say. "I'm not the one that tried to hitchhike across the galaxy."

"So it's all my fault, then?"

"Yes."

Soooo the wrong thing to say. But I was out of things to throw. And he'd caught the bottle anyway without spilling so much as a drop on his uniform. Bastard. Perfectly groomed, gorgeous, arrogant, yummy, staring-at-me-with-those-cold-gorgeous-eyes-jesus-why-can't-I-hate-you jizzbag!

"Wrong thing to say," I retorted hotly… okay, more like pouted hotly. Okay more like just pouted. Dammit.

He'd never possess the ability to give a disarming smile. His face was too sculpted, too full of a lifetime of money and regal assholishness to be disarming or cute. But it did soften those harsh lines a bit when he tried, and the fact that he was showing this side of himself to me was sort of endearing. I saw him take a step closer, the cleanser bottle falling from his hands as those blue blue eyes reached for mine. I took a step towards him, too, all but imagining the feeling of his lips on mine—

I wasn't going to sleep with him again, I reminded myself firmly. I was in my right(ish?) mind now, the drugs fully out of my system. I could hate him again. In fact, I did hate him. And it wasn't fear that made me turn my back on him, wasn't the desire to give up and drown in his eyes as Leia had warned. Nope, not even the slight sigh he gave could touch me.

I was like Leia. I was iron. I was tough as nails. I was firm in my resolve.

I was so full of shit I was vaguely surprised it wasn't coming out of my ears.

I had turned away from that smile, pressing my forehead on the cold shower wall. So I missed it when he slipped off his gloves and stepped up to the shower. Of course, since it was a vibe shower, he was able to rub a different sort of cleansing gel into my hair without having to take off his uniform. Figures, I'd fall for the only man that could be a sweltering hottie in his uniform while washing my hair and not worry about ruining either.

"Stupid Stockholm syndrome," I muttered viciously, the last syllable turning into a groan when those strong fingers worked the gel into my scalp.

"Stockholm syndrome?"

"Yeah. It's when you're held hostage and after a bit you start identifying with the dilholes doing the hostaging," I snapped. "Don't you people know anything?"

He chuckled. "Hostaging isn't a word. Nor are dilhole or douchy, I checked. Though I am now beginning to believe that those two words in particular carry negative connotations where you are from."

"What are you, the grammar police? Lead Hurt Monger not enough for you anymore?"

"I am hardly in charge of interrogations," he replied, ignoring my insults like they were nothing. Working those hands down towards the back of my neck. "And I believe your Stockholm statement is the closest thing to an apology I'll get from you. So apology accepted."

It was a good thing his hand was on the back of my neck, because when I tried to turn around indignantly, all he had to do was press. All I could do was sorta flail my arms behind me in a futile attempt to swat at him.

"Thath's noth anth apothogy, youth jhithbagth!" I said around a mouthful of shower wall. Seriously, my nose was pressed into it, my mouth, too. Yuck! How many other nasty three-day-dirty prisoners had used this thing recently?! They better have one helluva cleaning lady.

He laughed, easing up on the pressure. Smart enough to have stepped out of the shower, so when I turned his arm was extended and his hand was gently gripping my throat. "Wasn't it?" he asked playfully. "By the definition you just gave, you said you identified with me and my position, and by default you acknowledge your fault in this situation. You agree that your actions put you in harm's way. My actions were merely a consequence of your unfortunate decision. So I ask again, how is any of this my fault?"

I sputtered and spit into the shower, rubbing vigorously at my lips. "First off, you better have a seriously decent cleaning team that scour these walls with fire or something after each use."

He was trying so hard not to burst out laughing at me and my that-was-disgusting-dance that his eyes literally glowed with the effort. "Our sanitation droids are top of the line, even for prisoner 'freshers. Have no fear, Mary. You will not succumb to an alien bacteria on my watch."

"No, just endless manhandling by every Tom, Dick, and Admiral that happens to stroll by."

Some of the mirth left his expression at that. "Mary, I told you—"

"Yeah, yeah, doing all you can. Blah, blah behave and answer questions and you'll be fine. I get it. I heard you the first time you said it."

He swallowed a sigh, this one not quite as amused as the last one, the cold distant dilbag eyes staring at me again. "In all sincerity this time, what would you have me do? You were onboard a rebel ship and as such under suspicion by association. Then you insulted not only a Grand Admiral but a Lord of His Grace, Emperor Palpatine's court. Tell me, in your great and sarcastic wisdom, what I should do to alleviate your situation?"

And there he went again, making all sorts of stupid crappy sense.

"I'm not finished with my part of this conversation, so please save your making-me-feel-bad's until I've put my other foot in my mouth, 'kay?" I snapped again, because he was making me feel bad _**for him AGAIN. **_That's right, I said it! For _HIM_ and all his freaking help! When he put things like that, I really was the architect of my own predicament. And I hated feeling like that. Hated it more than imaginary numbers and wormy mind probes and smooth-talking-maybe-French-speaking Admirals. "The second thing—"

I didn't get to say the second thing. Mostly because I had his tongue in my mouth and my inner child was making with the yippy-skippy-I-get-to-adult-play-with-Praji-again dance. I couldn't think straight when I was sucking on his lips and his hands were… doing what his hands did best in my not so humble opinion.

"The second thing," he finished for me when we both surfaced for air, smirking down at me "is that you have now apologized a second time. If you keep this up, I will begin to hope that there is a future for us after all."

"For us?" I blinked at him, trying to push away the after effects of his kiss from my eyes. Stupid delicious dumbass. "Did you just say 'for us?'"

He nodded and dare I say he swallowed hard, as if admitting that out loud had been a huge deal for him. "I told you I don't do this with any prisoner, Mary. And I doubt you do this with every man you come across. I'm not proposing marriage by any stretch, but I am stating that I would like to see you again when we've cleared your name and you've been released."

It was my turn to feel the light fade from my eyes, my turn to look away. "You're forgetting about Tall-Dark-And-Electronically-Breathing, plus his amazing sidekick, Mr. Tall-Blue-Know-It-All. Even if we had time, Nadonnis, they aren't going to ever let me go. Especially not Thrawn. Man has a burr up his arse for me, hard core."

Not to mention the two of us were standing on a ticking time bomb. We were literally one farm kid and a lucky shot away from being blown to smithereens.

He folded me into his arms, my head tucked beneath his chin. "Thrawn and Vader aren't the only ones with pull in the Imperial Court," he said firmly.

He meant that statement to be reassuring, meant it to give me hope. Instead, it gave me the unwanted mental image of being a choice piece of meat. One that sat on a platter while Thrawn, Thrass, Vader, and now Praji circled it with ravenous eyes and sharp metal forks. In that situation it wouldn't matter who got the meat in the end, because said meat would have been stabbed to unrecognizable ruins long before the victor claimed his spoils.

* * *

Like clockwork, I was back to hating Commander Jizzbag Stoneface Dilhole not five minutes after our shower confession cuddle session. That was what our so-called relationship was based on, I realized. Pure extreme emotion. Lust and fear and hate. If there was an intergalactic Sith "People" magazine, we would be the most popular couple on the cover. We were the Sith equivalent of "Brangelina." Or were they now called "Polie?" Or was that "Jitts?" Nah, "Jitts" sounded too was too ridiculous and a touch obscene, even for me.

"We're the Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie of your galaxy," I threw viciously at him.

I would have thrown something else at him if I had anything else to throw. Or if my hands weren't cuffed to the side of the wall courtesy of his silver bracelet thing and a magnetic set of binders. Hot tears burned down my face as I watched him take the last of my possessions and toss them into an open slot on the wall. He'd already taken out my earrings, my nose ring, my industrial piercing in my left ear, my tragus piercing in my right ear... I had a lot of piercings. Working at a bar gave me the leeway to do whatever I wanted to myself. Hell, the more piercings I had, the bigger my tips became. I called that an investment in my future.

And to add further insult to me and this turd sandwich of a situation, he'd rubbed over those piercings with some bacta and presto! All healed up. As if they never were.

It was like he was stripping me of my very identity.

I'd gotten violent when he'd reached for my belly button ring. That thing had hurt like a bitch to be pierced and I wasn't looking forward to the experience again when I got out of this nightmare. Hence the cuffing to the wall.

His response to my latest verbal barb was to glare at me, the red mark on his cheek where I'd slapped him nearly gone. Again, ladies and gentlemen, thanks to the miracle of bacta! He picked up my beloved jeans and tossed them into the hole. Next was my favorite Firefly t-shirt, the one that showed Mal Reynolds standing with his arms across his chest and the phrase "I am to misbehave" in big block letters over his head. It went into the hole without so much as a hesitation.

"Jesus, Praji, have mercy!" I shrieked-sobbed-begged when he picked up my red Converse. "What do I have to do to make you stop? I'll do anything! I'll even stop calling you a jizzbag dilhole behind your back! Not the shoes! Not my shoes!"

Nope, not a wince or a sign of regret crossed those icecubes he called eyes. In went my babies. I couldn't believe that I'd once called his eyes lovely. No one could be lovely when they destroyed perfectly good classic vintage footgear! His palm slapped a button next to the hole in the wall, and I watched with slow-motion-horror as a transparent shield slid down. One second later there was a bright green flash.

Nothing remained of my possessions. Not even ash.

I hung my head and sobbed.

"Stop it," he said harshly, gripping my chin like Thrawn had and forced my head up. What was it with men and that particular motion? Was it instinctual? Bred into their DNA to know if you grab a woman's face like that she's going to give you her undivided attention? "It's only clothing. And you have a lot more to face today than the loss of a few personal items."

I tried to pull away. That had about as much effect on him as it had on Thrawn, too. Which was to say, none at all. "Do you know how long I searched to find those shoes?" I sniffled. "They were collector's items. Beyond that, I loved them! I was proud of them!"

He shook his head, the pained look on his face like that of a man that had to finally acknowledge his only child was a complete and utter moron. "You beautiful idiot of mine," he let out a frustrated sigh. "I'll buy you a manse full of shoes when this is over. So stop crying."

"Easy for you to say," I sniffled again, gazing at the disintegration portal as if I could will my shoes back into being. "I'm now literally at your mercy for everything. Food to eat, clothing to wear, you name it. Is that another big Imperial torture technique? Make me totally dependent on you and your amazing eyes for everything, so everything is a reward for doing what you say?"

He pressed his hands to his face, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. I knew that stance well. I'd seen it on my dad, my teachers, my… pretty much anyone that had authority over me that spend any amount of time in my presence. Sometimes, I swore I could make a stone statue scream in aggravation. Ah, the benefits of being me.

"I knew you were going to be no end of trouble for me," he said between his fingers. "You give me the greatest of compliments and then insult me in the same sentence. And still I keep coming back for more. Who in the Empire are you, Mary Vasquez, and what have you done to me?"

"I told you from the beginning that I'm trouble," I sniffle-pouted. "And tell me I'm wrong. About the dependent-reward thing, I mean. I dare you."

"No, you are correct," he said at last, crossing his arms over his chest and staring down at me. "Everything you get from here on out will be based on your behavior."

"Well, hell, I'm screwed," I muttered with feeling. "You of all people on this station should know I can't keep my mouth shut. Might as well shove my head into that disintegration thingy and push the button. Save you a lot of headaches."

He shook his head, a soft smirk back on his lips even though his eyes still looked pained. "I have to know, did you attempt to talk to Admiral Thrawn and Lord Thrass this way, too?"

I looked at him like he was the idiot this time. "Do I look stupid to you? No, don't answer that."

Because I was still naked, kneeling on the floor with my hands bolted to the wall in very odd positions. Mostly because after I'd slapped him, he'd literally tossed me against the wall. The cuffs had attached to the metal at first contact. For the record, let me state that there is no cool way to land against a wall naked. Trust me, I tried. My current position made me look like an extra for a naked "YMCA" dance, with me being a frozen lopsided "C."

I have to give him credit. The dilbag did his best not to laugh at the utter silliness of the situation. And like my attempt to fly coolly into a wall, he failed. He laughed until tears were running down his face, until I was smirking a bit myself. Yup, crown me Queen of the Stockholms. I agreed with the dumbass. This was all so very stupid.

And just like that, we were the Sith Brangelina again.

He knelt down in front of me, taking my mouth in a near tender kiss. "If you promise not to hit me, I'll let you go."

"And what do I get out of that?"

"Aside from no longer being chained to the wall, how about some clothes?"

"That depends. Are you going to promise not to incinerate them if I happen to like them?"

"Trust me, I doubt that is going to be an option."

He kissed my forehead and with a flash of his key-bracelet-thing my arms were free again. He handed me a bundle of grey ugliness. "Really? A jumpsuit? And a grey one at that? How 1980's of you."

He watched me step into the thing. "You don't have to wear it if you don't want to," he said, closing the magnetic snaps on the front for me. "I would like to see the look on Moff Tarkin's face if I brought you to him naked."

He'd meant it as a joke, expecting me to squeal and jump away, or at the very least to say something darkly sarcastic that would end in another session of tonsil hockey. He didn't expect me to go white as a sheet.

"Tarkin… why am I going to see Tarkin?"

He searched my eyes, all serious calm ice in a blink. "He and Admiral Motti requested both your and Princess Leia's presence this afternoon. Don't worry so much. You'll be with me. I have a feeling this audience is more for the Princess's benefit than for yours. So please, this time, keep your mouth shut and your eyes down and follow my lead."

I closed my eyes tightly. Shit, it was happening. Billions of people were about to die, and I was going to be helpless to stop it. Worse, I was going to have a front row seat. I hadn't realized until that moment that I'd hoped all my knowledge of the Star Wars Universe was wrong, that things like Thrass and Thrawn on the Death Star had meant other events I had taken as gospel weren't going to happen. That somehow my presence here had altered the timeline drastically enough to avert total tragedy.

Hope in one hand and piss in the other, as the saying went. See which one fills up first.

"You don't understand. We're in the Alderaan system right now, aren't we?"

It was his turn to blink in surprise. "How did you know that?" he demanded. "No one could have told you."

I waved his question away, a new panic rising in my chest. "Nevermind that. Tell me how long I've been here. I mean, total time in your custody from _Tantive_ to now?"

He grimaced at me, and I could see the thoughts behind his eyes grow darker. Like maybe he was beginning to rethink the fact that he could somehow get me out of this mess. "Four days."

I nearly fell over in shock. "Four days? How is that even possible?"

His arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me against him until my head was tucked under his chin again, secured against him before he spoke. Which was a good thing, because I would have slugged the bastard if I could have after what he said next.

"Two days to the Death Star. One full day under the effects of the Robisardic. After Dr. Uli's treatments, you slept for a full twenty-four hours."

Oh son of a… dammit dammit dammit! It was impossible to tell the passage of time in that cell. And I'd been left to torment for over twenty-four hours before I fell and broke my nose? Seriously, that long a time had passed in my delirious fever-wracked state? And then twenty-four hours more of straight sleep? Jesus, no wonder I'd had my wits about me when Thrass and Thrawn had played Good Cop/Bad Cop!

We'd lost too much time. And unless we got off this station in the next thirty or so hours, we were dead.

"Mary," he was saying, stroking my hair, trying to soothe the way I trembled in his arms. "Tell me what you know."

It was all I could do to meet his eyes and utter River Tam's line from Serenity. "Things are going to get much, much worse."


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Thanks again for the reviews and private messages! I know I say that every time, but they do help tremendously. So this chapter is sorta dark. THere's no way I could find to make light of the death of an entire planet. I tried, though! Please let me know what you think. :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun.

* * *

Something was wrong.

I mean, aside from the obvious fact that I was on the Death Star T-minus thirty hours before it blew, in a ridiculous ugly grey ill-fitting jumpsuit, my long hair hanging in loose straight tendrils down to my waist. I never wore my hair down like this, simply because there was a metric TON of it and it was baby fine. And how did someone with a last name like Vasquez end up with hair like this, you ask? Simple. My mother had been as white and fair as the day was long. My father had been that smooth caramel that came from pure Castilian Spain ancestry and darkened with a spicy Colombian upbringing.

The result of that little genetic pairing had been a blonde with a permanent tan and a rather loud personality. Dark slightly tilted nearly black eyes, too … and all the bad hair that I could want. Seriously, most people looked at me like I bleached my hair to get this shade of ice blonde. They never believed it was natural, what with my olive skin tones (which, by the way, were totally washed out by the grey of this jumpsuit. Just ugh. Torture in and of itself, I swear). My hair was so thick and baby fine that it constantly looked ratty. Never would I possess the luscious locks of Salma Hayek or Catherine Zeta-Jones. I was more like Brittany Murphy in Sin City—all frizz and tangles and split ends and just plain bleh.

Of course, the only reason I was thinking about this at all was because I was scared. Because I didn't want to think about what would happen in the next twenty minutes. Because this was all horribly, terribly wrong.

The fact that my hair was loose and behaving like a fishing net possessed by the devil as we marched through the detention corridors wasn't helping anything, either. I could tell by the way Praji had to constantly switch from side to side, the gossamer strands wrapping time and again around his hand where it gripped my upper arm. So he'd switch to the other side. When it happened again, he switched back. When it somehow got wrapped around his rank badge and code cylinder, nearly yanking me off my feet and pulling said items off his uniform when he'd turned a corner, I'd had about enough.

Apparently so had he.

"Hey!" I began with a flash of temper before he could start in on me. "You're the one that wouldn't allow me to keep my scrunchie, Mr. Disintegrate Everything. This isn't my fault. My hair has a mind of its own."

Praji's face contorted as if he felt a headache coming on, glaring at me from beneath his eyebrows. "And what in the Empire is a 'scrunchie?'"

Really? He just asked that? "Am I really going to have a conversation with you in the middle of the detention block over hair accessories? Do you realize how ridiculous you sound right now?"

A shadow of annoyance passed over his face, and he glanced to his left and right a moment. Thankfully we were out of earshot of the rest of the crew assigned to Asscracker Torture Detail today. When he glanced back at me the annoyance was still there, but at least the icy anger that he would have had to display had anyone else caught the show of a prisoner mouthing off at him was gone. There was even a slight tilt to his lips that was almost a smile.

Of course, he also shifted and pushed me back into a corner so if anyone bothered to glance at us, it looked like he was looming over me and speaking soft nightmare-inspiring words to keep me in line.

One gloved hand reached up as if to caress my cheek… and stopped. Again, he made with the glancing around like he was in Spy vs. Spy or something. "When you put it that way, yes, I would agree with you," he laughed softly for a moment before a haunted look entered those eyes. "But that isn't going to stop others from hurting you or cutting off your hair if you can't get it under control."

"They'd really cut my hair?" I gulped, gripping a handful of my nasty untamable strands as if that could somehow save them. I mean, I hated my hair but it was _my_ hair. It was better than nothing!

"Lord Vader would rip it out by the roots without giving a second thought."

"Then take my cuffs off for a second. Let me braid it, please? And pray that it stays in that shape until I'm locked back into my box like a big blonde Barbie."

"A blonde what? No, nevermind. There isn't time for you to explain. Braid it quickly. We don't want to be late for this meeting."

He did as I asked, and I made with the speed braiding while he stood with his back to the room, arms folded across his chest in a pose that said he was pissed and I was going to pay for it later. His face wasn't far from that mark, either. We'd both suffer tremendously if Grand Moff Tightwad—I mean Tarkin—decided we'd wasted his time being late to his macabre celebration ceremony.

My hands faltered a bit in my speed braiding, the reality of what was about to happen washing over me. "People are going to die today," I whispered. "A lot of innocent people, Nadonnis. You better gag me now, because I know I'm not going to be able to keep my mouth shut when it happens."

"What do you mean?" he whispered almost as silently as I, our words barely audible to each other. "Why won't you tell me what you know? I might be able to do something."

"No," I shook my head, finishing my braid with alacrity and swinging the tail over my shoulder. I let him cuff me again. "All it would do would put the guilt on your shoulders, too. My degree is in dead and ancient cultures. Adding this one to the list isn't going to be something new for me. But it might be for you."

He blinked at me, staring into my eyes as if really seeing me for the first time. The trade off of that kind of open honest searching was that it went both ways. I got a rare glimpse past the icy arrogance and undisguised lust. Shrewd intellect danced in those remarkable eyes, and for once an inkling of respect for me kindled to life. Not that he didn't really respect me before, but that initial respect had been the distant sort that you have for someone that's just fun to bang like a bunny and maybe see a movie with. I'd thought that was all he was capable of in regards to women. Most Praji men thought of their females like pretty baubles that popped out other Praji men occasionally.

This… this was something different in his eyes.

"You're protecting me?" he asked incredulously, as if I'd just suggested we go tug on Vader's cape and run away really fast.

I shrugged a shoulder, suddenly uncomfortable. "Yeah, well, it's my one good deed for the day. Savor the moment while you can. I'm sure I'll be back to dragging you into more difficulties than you can handle in no time. Remember what I said when we first met: I'm nothing but trouble."

He didn't reply to that, grabbing my arm and pushing me towards the waiting turbolift. I didn't have to fake the fear, the trembling, or the tears that hit me when Vader and Leia joined us. For once, I didn't envy Leia's regal stature, the way she looked as lovely as the moment she'd been taken by the Imp-dicks (how she managed that without a shower or clean clothes was baffling! I always thought that was a flaw in George's script, by the way. She should have looked more … I dunno… torture-ish when Luke found her. Not so perfect, but that was just my two cents). She still wore her white gown, the hem and bell sleeves dingy now, and tiny bits of brown—dried blood it looked like—dotted the collar of her dress like tiny permanent tears. She'd been put through the same torment I had, and had come out so much stronger than I.

But the tears that made messy tracks down my cheeks weren't for me. They were for the deepest injury she'd ever bear in her life, and it was coming in a matter of minutes.

"Leia," I whispered softly, ignoring Praji's warnings from before. "I am so sorry, hon. I wish there was a way we could avoid this and, trust me, I tried to find one. I'm so so so sorry."

Her head whipped towards me, stately anger ready to pop in my direction. But what she saw in my face turned that anger into worry, her chocolate eyes melting into pools of cautious concern. I reached out a hand to her, wanting to take her fingers in mine, to give what comfort I could. Vader had a different plan, though, and Leia was pulled out of my range. That hentai tentacle was back in my brain, slamming into me so hard I staggered back against Praji.

"Dig, you giant metal monster," I hissed at him in sudden defiance, expressing my personal horror at his part in all this the only way I could. Feeling him roaming the caverns of my memories, tasting my sudden rage at his intrusion like it was a delicious rare treat. "Go for it. See it all, big man. But don't come crying to me when you choke on it like a bitch."

Praji managed to get his hand over my mouth before I could do more verbal damage. But by that time Tall-Dark-and-Emotionally-Retarded and I were all about the mental back and forth. Words weren't needed. And like last time, the stupid dickwad wasn't going where he was supposed to go. There I was displaying all the goods about who Leia really was, how Luke was going to beat his butt like a four year old in Wal-Mart before bringing him back to the light side, and all the shiny happy stuff that lead up to the Empire's fall. And what did he do? He ignored it all and pressed on that stupid part of my brain that controlled autonomic responses AGAIN!

WTF was he looking for there? Seriously, it made no sense!

I jerked back stiffly against Praji, eyes rolling wildly as he steam-rolled over that sweet spot that controlled my life. But it seemed the old dog had learned a new trick since his last frolic through my brain space. My medical scanner didn't go off. Instead, it felt like he'd folded his fingers over my heart muscle, the flexing of his hand controlling the beat. I was painfully coherent as he did whatever it was he was doing to my mind, forced into a frightening state of calm as he regulated my heartbeat.

"Oh god," I moaned, feeling him dig deeper and deeper yet. Whatever idiotic notion that had possessed me into challenging him withered and died under the weight of that non-pressure. "Why? Why are you doing this? What are you looking for? Please… please stop."

Vaguely I heard another plea for my life, and realized it was coming from Leia. Leia, the queen of passive resistance, was struggling against Vader's vice-like grip on her shoulder, kicking uselessly at his armored shins. Ordering him to stop. Begging for my life in a voice that sounded like agony.

And, like before, he let go suddenly. Just like that. No explanation given. I doubt Leia's request had anything to do with his decision to release me. I slumped back against Praji, shaking, cold sweat breaking out on my skin as belated adrenaline was finally allowed to course through my system.

"And still you remain a mystery," Vader hissed. "You, and your link with the Princess. When this business with the Rebellion is concluded, I will turn my attention to solving your puzzle. Until then, remain silent. "

The turbolift doors opened and Praji shoved me in ahead of everyone else before I could say anything in return.

* * *

So, like I was saying before brain rapes and scrunchie conversations took place, something was wrong. It seemed that I wasn't the only one that had picked up on that, either. Praji was all stiff frustrated ice as we plodded through the corridors. Vader was anger personified, shoving Leia unnecessarily ahead of him at times. It wasn't her fault that she was a whole, what, five foot eight, max? Vader was seven feet of robotic hatred. Even I would have trouble keeping up with his ground gobbling strides.

Oh, did I mention that Praji's hand was still over my mouth? Yeah, he wasn't about to take any more chances today, and I really couldn't blame him. Well, on second thought, I could. I _did_ ask him to gag me before this day got underway in earnest. And how could anyone keep silent when they knew that billions of people were about to die just because some tight-fisted uber-douche was all pissy that a couple thousand people didn't agree with his personal political philosophies?

The whole situation was like a super-sized version of Tiananmen Square back home, with Alderaan acting like the students and one gigantic laser spewing tank about to roll right over them.

My tears started falling again as we entered the last lift that would take us to Grand Moff Suck-head and his appalling travesty of a celebration. I wanted so much to turn my head, to bury my face into Nadonnis's shoulder and sob until I was numb. I didn't want to see what was coming. I really didn't. But right now he wasn't my… boyfriend? Protector? Lover?

Huh. We really didn't have a definition for what we were to each other. Just another reason we were the Sith Brangelina.

Right now he was in dilhole Commander Praji mode, tall and strong and unshakably certain that his service to the Empire was the correct thing to do. Right now I was Lord Vader's personal prisoner, given into Praji's professional hands for as long as Vader wished it. And at this moment, I couldn't have given a more grandiose impression that Praji knew how to do his job better than I was now. When the doors parted, and the gaunt grim reaper image of Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin filled my eyes, I was pale, docile, shaking. Silent tears making their way down my face, rolling like unheeded prayers against the deaf ears that was the leather of his gloves.

Moff Suck-head smiled a death's-head smile as a means of welcome, gesturing Praji to bring me in for a closer inspection. The hand on my mouth pressed upward, drawing my head in the same direction until it was pressed back against his shoulder, my eyes forced to stare up at Moff-Psycho-Planet-Killer.

"Welcome, rebel," the monster said cordially. "I trust your stay has been pleasant?"

I didn't say anything, didn't make a sound. There was no sarcasm strong enough to combat the horror of what I was about to witness. My tears were the only reply I could give.

"I'm so glad," he went on in that smug self-congratulatory tone, as if I'd answered in a way that was most pleasing to him. Then again, maybe I had? "I welcome you to my little party and do hope you enjoy the performance. Afterwards, I'll make it a priority to speak with Commander Praji and Lord Vader, and the three of us will decide just how long your stay here will last."

Translation: when Praji and Vader decided that they'd gotten all they wanted from me, Moff-Murder-face would sign my execution form right alongside Leia's. Or at the very least transfer us to Vader and Thrawn, respectively. I think I whimpered a bit at that, wanting to beg and plead, but knowing those words would be lost on someone like Tarkin.

But whatever Tarkin saw in my pathetic eyes was enough to have him dismiss me without further thought. No, he had eyes only for Leia, and the defiance that radiated off of her like heat from a sun. He was a predator, this disgusting creature in man's form, and his predatory mind didn't want the broken toy in front of him. Quite the opposite, he wanted the one that would give him the most sport.

I looked broken, utterly broken, and part of me was. Not for myself, but because I knew this was what Leia was going to feel in a few scant minutes. She was just too well trained to let it show. I wasn't. Instead, my mind was flashing back to my first real day as a cultural anthropologist, all newly minted and innocent like a shiny coin fresh off the press. I had been little more than an intern, traveling with some PhD through parts of Eastern Europe, studying the lasting effects of the fall of the Soviet Union on communism and the "Eastern Bloc" countries.

We'd accidently stumbled across an unmarked mass grave while tracking down the truth of some story from a local. It still gave me nightmares to this day. And in my heart of hearts, it was the real reason I'd taken that crap position as an assistant in that museum, the real reason I'd chosen Bartending School instead of a Master's degree. There were some things you just couldn't unlearn once you learned them.

"Thank you, Commander," a smoothly modulated Chiss-dragon voice cut into my thoughts. Just as slender blue fingers closed rather gently over my wrist. "I will tend to this prisoner, myself, for the duration of this ceremony."

Yeah, something was definitely wrong, alright. Thrawn was still here, when he shouldn't be. And he was being all polite to me, when he shouldn't be, either.

There was nothing Praji could do in regards to a Grand Admiral's request. We both knew it. So I didn't blame him when he let go of my arm and my mouth. I stared up into Thrawn's not-too-unkind eyes before bowing my head in submission, especially when I heard those damning words come out of Leia's mouth, starting this whole atrocious ball of wax moving.

"Governor Tarkin, I should have expected to find you holding Vader's leash," she quipped sharply. "I recognized your foul stench when I was brought onboard…"

Thrawn's hand slid to my elbow, guiding me like a gentleman escorting a lady rather than a prisoner to the block. "No sharp words today, Miss Vasquez?"

"How could you?" I whispered hotly, my head still bowed. "You were my hero. How could you just stand there and let this happen?"

If my words had any effect on the giant walking icicle in white, he didn't show it. "I assure you, this is not my doing. Lord Thrass and I argued rather vehemently against it, for a multitude of reasons I shall not discuss with you at this time. Lord Vader's will, however, will be done."

That shocked me, so much so that my head whipped up and I gaped at him. "You answered me? You don't owe me a damn thing, nevertheless an explanation."

"True," he lifted those eyebrows in that infuriating calm way he always did. "Yet for once you spoke honestly to me. Why shouldn't I return truth for truth?"

"Especially when it doesn't cost you anything to answer," I sighed, letting him seat me against the wall between Thrass and himself. "I keep forgetting that is the ultimate end goal for you in conversations like these. It's what you can get out of it, knowledge-wise I mean."

He regarded me a long moment, lips compressed slightly. "Is that something Car'das told you?"

"In a roundabout way," I replied, staring down at my cuffed hands. There, another piece of truth he could plaster into his collection, for all the good it would do him. "I don't want to talk about him right now. I don't want to talk about anything."

"Then we will have nothing to distract you from the coming show."

"Is that what you think you are doing?" I swiped angrily at my tears, at my personal internal horror show. A child's skeletal hand clasped in its parent's bony grasp, the dirt mercifully concealing the rest from view… "Why? Why do you even care? Why aren't you celebrating with the other Imp-dicks? Shouldn't you be out there kicking ass and taking names for your illustrious Emperor? I'm sure there's an innocent system just like Alderaan in the Unknown Regions that needs to be crushed beneath Imperial Jackboots. You're missing the opportunity for some good hands-on obliteration instead of watching it here like it's some kind of spectator sport!"

"That was rather unkind," Thrawn replied coolly, pinning me with a stare. "And rather unwise, given my explanation from before. Not everyone agrees with this decision."

He tilted his head to the side, and out of reflex I glanced where he indicated.

I'd never seen Thrass truly angry in my pitiful short time in knowing him, and there weren't any stories out there in the Expanded Universe that talked about his particular brand of wrath. His expression hadn't changed, his posture as relaxed as ever, one ankle propped against his knee, arms folded across his chest. He looked… bored of all things. But it was the slight tip of his head, the intensity of those eyes as they bored into Tarkin and Vader and Leia, that made me think of the heart of a sun.

He blamed them all for what was about to happen. Even Leia. No, _especially _Leia and her Rebellion.

He was a walking furnace of perpetually stoking rage. And he was purposely not looking at me. As if I had offended him by my last statement. For crying out loud, whatever happened to guilt by association? I mean, here I was in all sorts of emotional turmoil, having experienced more pain in the last four days than most people feel in a lifetime, and all because I happened to be on the _Tantive IV_ when it was taken.

I didn't even work for the rebellion but I was guilty of being a rebel! Thrass and Thrawn were freaking hard-core gleeful members of Uncle Palpy's New Regime, all but parading around the Death Star with pomp pomps and megaphones screaming "TWO FOR SIX EIGHT! WHO DO WE APPRECIATE? YAY EMPIRE!" And _now_ the Chiss Dynamic Duo was all shades of upset that _I_ lumped _them_ in with the masterminds of the Alderaan massacre?

I bowed my head again, this time growling sheer frustration into my hands. "Really? Now I'm supposed to feel bad for him, too? Oh, stow it, Thrass," I whisper-snapped when those angry eyes turned towards me, all indignant apparently that I could feel bad for him. "You aren't the only one hurting right now. So kick my ass in private later for this if you want. Hell, I'll even let you. Right now just… stop. Just stop, okay? Can we please sit on the sulking-losers-bench like the failures that we are and commiserate in our shared helplessness? The innocent people that are about to meet their dear and fluffy lord deserve that at least. And if I can say that, being the most irreverent person to ever grace this station, I think you can, too."

His hand clutched the back of my neck, pulling me around to face him. "Do not presume upon my brother's good will in talking openly with you, human. Your sarcasm is not wanted or appreciated. And do not dictate to me, _ever_, regardless of the validity of your statements." His eyes searched mine just as his brother's had done, a bit of the fire in them dying down. "I liked you better when you weren't making sense."

If I didn't know any better, I would have sworn that his last statement was an apology of sorts.

"Yeah, well, I liked me better that way, too," I muttered, shrinking a bit under that steady red gaze. "Thanks to the wonderful world of interrogation chemicals, ya'll have seen fit to burn sense _into_ me instead of out. Which, I might add, is something my professors would have paid you double for back when I was in school. Look at it on the bright side, you at least have a fall back career when this whole Empire thing goes south on you."

Thrass's eyes narrowed further as he watched me rub my face with my cuffed hands, but most of his anger was spent, or at the very least internalized and no longer aimed at my head. "I thought I ordered those binders removed from you."

"You did. Lord Hater ordered them back on."

Amazingly, something that may have been a surprised shock of laughter, carefully hidden behind a polite cough, escaped Thrass's lips. "Lord _Hater_… Stars, child, does your insolence know no bounds?"

"Not really, no. It's my comforting thought," I replied, realizing for the first time that it was.

Figured that sarcasm would be my happy place, just as it figured that this conversation with Thrass and Thrawn was reminding me just why they were both my favorite anti-heroes in the novels. More to the point, it made sense that Thrass would be against the destruction of Alderaan. I mean, he killed himself trying to save fifty humans he'd never met at the end of Outbound Flight. Well was supposed to have, at any rate. And Thrawn did hate rebellions of any kind, was a huge proponent of order. But that didn't make him a natural born killer al la the movie that bore that title. They were just as trapped as I was in that moment, I realized, forced to attend this grisly spectacle. A prisoner just like me.

It made me feel bad about mocking them from before. I blamed that on my raging case of Stockholm, too.

"Sorry about the, you know, sex jokes when you and Drag—uh Grand Admiral Thrawn interrogated me."

That caused both of them to raise eyebrows at me. In unison. "Apologizing to your captors?" Thrass asked at the same time Thrawn commented "I suppose we all have nicknames in your strange mind."

"That was kind of creepy," I glanced at one and then the other. "Yes to the first question, and I plead the Fifth to the second comment."

"The Fifth?" Thrawn asked curiously.

"Reference to the laws on my planet against self-incrimination. Where I come from, you can't be made to testify against yourself."

Again they exchanged glances over my head.

"You understand that such laws do not apply to you now," Thrawn said. "You are in Imperial space and subject to Imperial mandate."

"I know," I swallowed hard, eyes tracking over Leia and Tarkin, watching him begin to loom over her. Oh god… any minute now I was going to have an up close and personal demonstration of _Imperial mandate_. "Just as I know that this little cease-fire between the three of us is only going to last as long as we have something in common that we despise. So don't think you are building that rapport thingy captors are to have with their captives with me. I'm on to that shtick, homeslice."

"Homeslice," Thrawn echoed, drawing my attention back to him. "Is that a term of respect in your culture?"

Ergh. I flinched a bit at that. He probably wouldn't have taken well to the truth of that, or being referred to as a Disney villain. The best most awesome Disney villain in my not so humble opinion, but still… (and speaking of which, was it just me or were all the most awesome Disney villains women? The men kinda seemed pathetic in comparison. Even Jafar and Scar were just mediocre compared to the evil stepmother in Cinderella, the evil Queen in Snow White, etc… Maybe good ol' Walt really was threatened by strong women as the theories stated).

"Would you believe me if I said yes?" I asked distractedly, watching Leia back into Vader. Watching Moff Evil-Douche loom over her. A fine trembling started in my hands, tears welling in my eyes. Any minute now… any minute now. The suspense was killing me.

"No, I wouldn't."

Thrawn shifted on the bench, one finger tapping my cheek until I was looking into his eyes again. Until I could no longer see the antics behind me. And when I tried to glance over my shoulder, all I could see was Thrass.

"Then I'll take the Fifth again."

"Will you also take this "fifth" if I ask you to answer one more question in truth? Did you mean it when you said I was your hero?"

Technically that was two questions. But hey, who was I to split hairs? "Will that make a difference when you next interrogate me?"

"No. If only for the fact that you somehow knew about Alderaan's fate before I did. That normally does not happen. In fact, I believe you know a great many things that you should not know, things that perhaps even the Emperor, himself, remains blissfully unaware. Don't bother trying to deny it. I have observed you long enough to know the truth. Very soon, the three of us will sit down and discuss those things."

I grimaced, wondering how in the world he had figured that one out… and would have leapt to my feet when I heard Leia exclaim "WHAT?" if not for Thrawn's hands gripping my wrists and Thrass's hands suddenly pressing down on my shoulders.

It was happening. Alderaan… Oh god it was happening! "N—"

That was about all I could get out of my mouth before something very familiar and silver was slapped over my lips from behind. But that didn't stop me from trying, from screaming and thrashing as much as I could. I wasn't Leia, dammit! I wasn't going to rationalize what was happening, wasn't going to shrink away in muted horror, acknowledging the fact that I could do nothing to stop this horrible thing.

I was going to fight like hell. Because even if the spectacle I was providing was amusing to all the Imp-dicks around me, the humiliation was less painful than the guilt I'd carry if I sat still and did nothing.

So I fought… until the most unlikely of things occurred. Until Thrawn turned my face into his chest like I had wanted to do with Praji.

And, as if Mr. Know It All, well_, knew it all_, he answered my unspoken question. "Because," he said simply as I sobbed into his pristine shoulder, as the sound of Vader's breathing filled the silence and those nauseating vibrations through the deck let us all know that the super laser had fired. "Because right now you are correct and we have a cease-fire based on our mutual hatred. Right now, the three of us are indeed united in a single purpose."


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: This one is for all the Leia fans and requests. I hope you don't lynch me after this. Again, thank you for all the reviews and the follows and th private messages! The feedback helps tremendously. Though I have to say something dissapointing to one reader. I can't add Aria Idelas from my "Perspective" story into this story. Nevermind that Aria is all of twelve years old during this story, any meeting between Mary and Aria would not go well. Trust me. However, I will write a personal fic for you that stars Aria and Thrawn as an apology if you want. ::hugs!::

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun!

* * *

Much later, when I was sailing away from the remains of the Death Star, the full implication of Thrawn's words would sink in. I'd realize that the 'something wrong' I had been feeling was the invisible chain of destiny that was wrapping around us both, getting ready to tie me to him, his brother, and Vader in a conspiracy that would shake the foundations of the Empire. But in those critical first moments after a planet-full of people were rendered into so much interstellar dust, all I could focus on was the horror. All I could think about was the loss.

The "celebration" such as it was, was moved up to the principal observation level, where everyone could take a gander at the giant asteroid storm that was all that was left of a once beautiful world. I was partly surprised that they didn't have girls in skimpy outfits handing out goodie bags to the attendees like at all the good Hollywood parties. After all, everyone should own a tiny piece of Alderaan to commemorate the momentous occasion, and maybe a little bottle of Alderaanian ocean water, you know, as a collector 's item. Oh, and a bobble-head of Vader and Tarkin bustin' a move in a victory dance to put on their freaking starship dash boards. Every time it activated, you could hear the sound of a planet-sized explosion followed by their wicked little laughs. Sounded like an epic party favor to me!

That was sarcasm, folks, in case you missed it. Sarcasm of the most caustic and darkly biting variety.

Leia, as the primary guest of honor, was seated in a chair all her own, her hands locked down to it. And to add insult to injury, they turned it so it was facing the largest most unobstructed portion of the window. The muted lights were reddish in color where she was seated, washing over her and making me think of the scene in Carrie where the poor girl was doused in pig's blood. But unlike that horror movie, Leia wasn't given the opportunity to lash out with her power, or run from the stage in shame.

She was stuck there for everyone's viewing pleasure, positioned to look out the great viewport. Where she could do nothing but stare at the particles that had been her home.

It was worse than staring at the four black walls of our cells.

I wasn't permitted to go near her. Indeed it appeared that no one, save for Lord Hater and Moff Murder-Face (my new permanent name for him), were allowed to so much as a glance in her direction without permission. I was kept between a pair of stormtroopers, the two jerkfaces neatly carrying me between them as they roved the gathering. It wasn't like there was a reason I couldn't walk. I just didn't want to, and more to the point, I didn't care.

I didn't have regal dignity. I could give two craps if I had to be carried sobbing by two jerkfaces into the observation level, paraded around like some kind of living trophy. _Hey everyone, get an eye-full! See the treacherous rebel Mary Vasquez on display, broken and sobbing, for your interactive enjoyment. Limited engagements so hurry and get your tickets right away!_

All I could see in my mind's eye were the skeletons in that shallow unmarked grave, the tiny bones of children mixed and scattered with the larger bones of the adults. Would we see anything like that out that window, I wondered in quiet dread. Would Leia find a whole person floating out there among the debris? I didn't think any level of training, regal or otherwise, would stop her from losing her mind if that was the case.

"A marvelous display," Admiral Fucktard (aka the one and only Admiral Conan Antonio Motti!) was commenting to Moff Murder-Face in a smarmy kind of way, sipping at a sky-blue liquid in a crystal glass. "With a power like this, the Empire's control of the galaxy is complete. News of this demonstration will travel the length and breadth of all known worlds before the night is over. I daresay our futures are made, gentlemen."

Okay, maybe I wasn't as broken as I thought. That startling moment of clarity hit me as I heard Admiral Fucktard (sorry, there simply wasn't a word not composed of curses that could describe that man in my eyes) word-vomit his uncalled for comment. Part of me was surprised the words didn't look like pea-green soup. This wasn't like admiring a new car or even a new brand of fighter plane. This certainly wasn't a battle station created for peace and security as the Imperial Propaganda Department was surely going to tout it. This was a machine of mass murder, of genocide waiting to happen! And he was praising it?

Fucktard wasn't nearly a strong enough word for him. I didn't think there was one in creation yet that was.

Rage welled in me, the desire to smash that expensive glass into his face, to cut him, to stab him repeatedly with the stem of it like I'd seen in a Law and Order episode… or was that CSI? NCIS? NYPD Blue? LMNOP? There were too many cop TV Shows with acronyms these days! Anyway, said want was so powerful that I nearly lashed out. So powerful that Vader's head whipped in my direction.

"I wouldn't think such things, were I you," a soft feminine voice put in from my right. "At least, not that loudly."

The jerkfaces came to a halt in their dragging me around, and I lifted my head in her direction, borrowing Leia's noble expression of indignation. Which was hard to do being carried by stormtroopers with a patch of silver material over my mouth, let me tell you. I fell way short of the mark, but I liked to think the all-out fury and hurt in my eyes more than made up for it. If it did, the woman that crossed into my visual range on Thrass's arm didn't show it.

She surprised me, to be honest. She was… well… rather ordinary looking if somewhat familiar. Mousy brown hair fell as straight as mine down her back. Pale hazel eyes regarded me with serene intelligence, searching me as much as I searched her. She wore a simple empire waist gown in deep burgundy, the fabric shimmering richly in the muted lights. A thin delicate golden chain bearing some sort of tiny medallion graced her slender neck. It was the lightsaber fastened to her forearm on a matching golden bracer that turned her from the pretty girl-next-door into a serious threat.

Holy frick… was I… was I really looking at…

I stuttered her name behind my gag, shock knocking my anger right out of the park in a homerun drive straight down my emotional center field.

The woman tipped her head to the side, frowning as she glanced at Thrass. "Is the gag really necessary?"

"Right now, probably not," Thrass pursed his lips in contemplation. "If you had seen her a day ago, you would understand the need for restraint. She is truly quite creative with her… vocal displays."

She smiled somewhat, her face becoming more than pretty with the expression but less than beautiful. "Ah, this is the one you told me about, then. Part of me would have loved to have seen her …displays… firsthand."

"There wasn't time, my lady," Thrass stepped forward, touching a fingertip to my gag. "If I release you, will you give me your word that you will obey me?"

I thought about that one, really thought about it. But, like so many other things in this cracked-up freak show that _used_ to be my favorite genre of all time, I knew I had no choice. What help would I be to anyone if I was gagged and bound? And now that I thought about it, being bandied about in such a gross display of sorrow was exactly what the Imp-dicks wanted of me right then. Leia wasn't cooperating with the waterworks, so they'd banished her to her own private hell. But me? Oh, I was providing the exhibition in ways that exceeded expectations.

It made me love Leia all the more. That she could hold together enough to defy them in her darkest moments.

I nodded to Thrass meekly, hating myself the whole time. The gag was pulled off, the stormtroopers releasing my arms. And once again Thrass personally removed my binders.

"You're Lorana Jinzler, aren't you?" I asked softly, rubbing my tender wrists. "You're supposed to be dead on Outbound Flight. Does your brother know you're still alive?"

Lorana's eyes opened wide and Thrass made a face, a very angry face. Well, angry for him. That meant that he just looked more bored than before. I had to wonder what the crap the Chiss did to their kids to make them hide their feelings so well. Then again, maybe I didn't want to know. I had enough nightmares already.

"This is Lady _Threnody_, my wife, and servant of the Emperor," Thrass said coldly, emphasizing her name. Nearly daring me to say different. "You will honor her with the proper address and apologize."

His wife? He'd married her? No wonder he'd looked at me strangely when I said he and Lor-Thr… hell with it. She was now Lorana-Plain-and-Tall. He couldn't dictate what I called her in my head, so there! No wonder he had looked at me strangely when I said she had died on Outbound Flight. Apparently something more than just saving some innocent humans had taken place on that bridge.

Good lord, what _else_ had changed in this universe?

Some of that must have shown on my face, because Thrass lifted his hand as if to signal for the jerk brigade and a new round of bound-and-gagged. I sighed. He was really going to make me do this, wasn't he. I put one leg behind the other and sunk down into a low curtsey. I knew damn well she was Lorana Jinzler, regardless of whatever name she called herself now.

"My lady," I said resignedly, already kicking myself for giving Thrass my promise. "Forgive my ignorance."

I wasn't going to say that I was mistaken, though. Thrass didn't own me that much… yet.

Lorana-Plain-and-Tall laughed softly behind her hand. "You are right, my lord husband. Even when she says what she's supposed to say, it sounds very much like she is telling me to blast myself."

My face grew hot at that, embarrassed when I should be furious. I mean, what the freak was I doing, kneeling before Thrass and Lady Plain-and-Tall? You're buying Leia time, is what you are doing, the rational part of me was whispering. You're letting her grieve in as much privacy as she can get, and the more you play the part of broken rebel dog, the longer she has to get her head back in the game and figure out how to make these douchebags pay.

And oh, if I had anything to say about it, they would pay and pay dearly for this.

Lady-Plain-and-Tall sighed again, touching the top of my head. "Rise, Miss Vasquez, and again I caution you on your thoughts. You play the part of meekness very well, but your feelings betray you. You are not in the least bit cowed… and yet your intentions to serve my husband tonight are true. You'll obey him in whatever he says," she tipped her head to the side again. "How curious."

"What's curious, Lady Threnody, if I may be so bold as to ask?"

I winced hard at that voice, pausing in my act of rising to my feet. I bowed my head again, letting the loose tangles of my hair cover my face, for once glad that they'd escaped the braid. That voice belonged to the Douchebag of the Year (aka Admiral Motti), and he was walking up to our conversation group, bringing with him Moff Murder-Face, Admiral Daala, and General Tagge. It was probably in my best interest to stay down and let them think the shaking of my shoulders was fear. I didn't know what it was about Motti, but the mere presence of the man made me want to blow chunks.

Dial up Dr. Uli. I think I found another allergy to add to the list. Assholes. Yup, definitely allergic to assholes if my reaction to Motti was any indication.

"Ah," Fucktard said, amusement thick in his voice as he stepped up to me. "Yes, I see now. This is the other rebel that Lord Vader recovered from the _Tantive IV_. I heard she was quite the handful to subdue in the beginning. Though if her demeanor tonight is any indication, I think Commander Praji should be commended for his efforts. She's quite amusing, isn't she?"

He reached out a hand, no doubt intending pat my hair as if rewarding a dog for good behavior. I wasn't above biting his hand if he so much as got near me. Just call me Cujo from here on out, because I was about to go all rabies on his sorry ass.

"What she is is the property of Lord Vader," Thrawn interjected, as if somehow knowing things were about to go poorly. "I might suggest speaking with his lordship before touching his property."

Property? Did he just refer to me as a slave?

Fucktard frowned deeply at that, eyes flickering to where the monster in question stood over Leia's chair. His hand fluttered towards his throat before he could stop it, and his frown turned into a scowl of resentment. Probably remembering his last little confrontation with the Dark Lord, and how it had definitely not ended in his favor. Hah! I just might owe the giant jerkwad for that...

"Perhaps when he is done with her, he'd be interested in selling her to the highest bidder," Fucktard speculated instead.

"And you would be willing to bid?" Moff Murder-Face asked pleasantly.

"Absolutely," Fucktard replied with an easy used-car-salesman smile, finding his sycophantic groove again. "In a few days, if not tomorrow, the majority of the rebellion will be nothing more than debris and memory. Owning a piece of that history, having a formal rebel to parade before any other group that may take up that worthless cause, would be worth the cost of the purchase. After all, rebels will be an endangered species soon."

Others laughed, even Tarkin. Plain-and-Tall hid her reaction behind a sip of wine. Thrawn and Thrass gave identical brittle smiles. And I? I tried really hard to keep my head down and my hands knotted at my waist, trying to pretend they weren't there. Trying not to feel like the littlest kid on a playground full of bullies. I focused on Leia, on the one female in any Sci-Fi move from the seventies that wasn't a helpless piece of decoration. She was tough and strong and determined.

Unlike this circle of demons. Literally the political undercurrents rolling off these creatures were enough to bury me alive. Hatred hidden behind thin veneers of civility, crosses and double-crosses and double-double crosses more prevalent than oxygen. Everyone hated everyone to some extent. Everyone had an agenda.

Motti wanted Tarkin to take control of the battle station and usurp the Emperor, only so he could kill Tarkin and take his place. Tagge wanted Motti's head on a platter for more reasons that I could list. Tarkin wanted to screw Daala into the mattress, and then skip through the universe waving his giant power dick at anyone that wanted to see, and even those that didn't. Thrawn wanted to protect his people, and if doing that meant keeping company with the likes of these douchebags, then he was willing to do it. I had no idea what Thrass and Lorana wanted, but if they were at Thrawn's side, they probably wanted the same thing he did.

Scratch that playground analogy. I honestly felt like I was kneeling in the center of a casting call for Game of Thrones: The Space Generation. I could easily see Tarkin as Tywin Lannister, Daala as Cersei Lannister, and Motti as Renly Baratheon. Thrass was cutting a rather striking semblance to Jaime Lannister at the moment, with Lorana picking up the slack as Daenerys. I suppose that would make Thrawn a non-dwarf version of Tyrion (creepy how eerily accurate _that _one was!).

Did that make Leia into Sansa then, and did that leave me as Arya? Then who was Lord Hater?

"Bring the rebel to me," Vader called, bringing everyone to silence. "She is mine until I say otherwise. Speculation as to her future is premature at best."

Guess I wasn't going to have to obey Thrass after all. Somehow that wasn't the comforting thought it should have been.

* * *

Sitting at the feet of the real Lord Vader wasn't as nearly as much fun as it was at cons. Then again, at a con I could leap to my feet at a moment's notice, thank the dude in the suit for his time, and go on my merry little way. And, yes, before you ask, yes, I was that stupid. Trying to get up and walk away once had ended with a Force choke until I was on the floor again. After I finished my impression of a stroke victim, I decided not to go that route anymore. I stayed where he put me, keeping my mouth shut, my arms wrapped around my knees, and my back to the side of Leia's chair.

And did nada. See, I was a fast learner when I wanted to be. Praji would have been so proud.

Every so often, Vader's hand would pass over my head and with it his mind probe inside my ruminations. Not digging this time, not even searching for anything really. Just sifting my surface thoughts, perusing my mental movie screen like idly flipping through channels. He loitered a bit on my Star Wars: Game of Thrones references, though, and I almost thought I felt amusement. Hey, maybe he was a closet fantasy addict, after all! Maybe that's what he did in that egg-capsule thing he sat in on his Super Star Destroyer. If that was the case, I could no longer blame him for Force choking his officer staff when they interrupted him with failures. I was cranky when interrupted in my favorite books, too, especially when I was imagination-deep into the good parts.

After a few minutes of that, I tentatively tried lifting my head. When no lack of breath rewarded my efforts, I craned my neck to get a peek at Leia.

She was still as a statue, eyes wide and unfocused, face a mask of pure neutrality. It was frightening, honestly. Every so often a soft sigh would leave her lips, and for the life of me I never saw her blink once.

Oh, not good. Very much not good. "Should… should we call a doctor?" I tried timidly, trying to be as meek for him as I was for Thrass. "She doesn't look good."

"Save your concerns for yourself, rebel," Vader replied, and with those words his mental hand wrapped around my heart again. It didn't squeeze, it just held. A warning to STFU already.

The smart thing to do would have been to say 'yes, my lord' and keep my damn mouth shut. Remember, though, this was me we were talking about. And doing the smart thing wasn't necessarily the best thing in my experience. Besides, that quip Thrawn had made about me being property, that I might have inadvertently walked into slavery, was the one thing that kept me from sinking into sorrow again.

Those people in that shallow grave back home had most likely died rather than live as slaves, chose death instead of bowing their heads to a tyrant and saying 'yes, my lord.' The people of Alderaan, if they were anything like Leia, would have done the same.

Slowly I rose to my feet, waiting for the pain that would inevitably spill me across the deck like jellybeans. When it didn't come, I carefully placed one foot in front of the other, feeling Hater's eyes all over me as I crossed over to Leia. That hand was still wrapped around my heart, but so far he hadn't decided to squeeze it yet. That was a good thing, right? Keeping my eyes on him, I crouched down on Leia's other side, taking one of her pale hands in mine.

"She's cold," I gasped, pressing the back of my hand to her forehead. She didn't so much as blink. "She's too cold. I think she's in shock. This isn't good. It could kill her."

"And her death would upset you?"

"Of course it would!" I sent him a sour look, like he was an idiot or something before I could stop myself. Reflexes, oh how they can sometimes pop up at the wrong time. "It should upset you, too."

Lord Hater stared at me in silence, or at least I think he was staring. Again, how did you tell what was going through his noggin with that expressionless mask on all the time? For all I knew he could be sticking out his tongue at me behind that thing. That hand on my heart gave a belated flex, and I found myself on hands and knees before I knew it, doing everything in my power to keep from passing out. Guess I knew what was going on in his mind now. And it wasn't rainbows and unicorns.

"Okay, you're pissed," I gasped out. "I get it. I'm sorry. My brain-mouth filter is broken. Too many emotional shocks and tortures. But that doesn't change what I said. Leia could die."

The pressure increased. "Lord Vader."

I was breathing heavily now, my vision swimming. "What?" I squeaked out, giving Alvin a run for his money in the soprano category.

"My name is Lord Vader, not Lord Hater."

Crap-sticks, he'd caught that stray thought. "Okay. Lord Vader. I'm down with that. Kick ass name. Go you. I'm sorry I didn't say that before, Lord, uh, kick-ass-awesome-name. You rule," The pressure eased and I swore I almost felt something like amusement again from him, like that hand on my heart had decided to caress instead of squeeze. I clawed myself to my knees on the arm of Leia's chair, clinging to it to remain upright. "My lord, please, in all sincerity, she's in trouble."

"She is fine. I am not damaging her… permanently."

As if to put a fine point on it, Leia let out another of those stuttering sigh. Nothing in her face changed, which was freaky in and of itself, but that sigh…. It wasn't a sigh, I noticed now that I was close enough to hear it. It was a muted scream. A scream she couldn't make whole because I was willing to bet Vader had his other mental hand wrapped around her heart, too.

And the reason why his brain probes on me were so light? Why, because he was busy rearranging her mental bookshelves into a configuration that was to his liking! That had to be what he was doing, what with her eyes constantly dilating and focusing, the slight almost non-existent shakes of her head. I'd seen enough bad sci-fi movies to recognize the signs. And I didn't know what was displayed on her cerebral canvas, but whatever it was, it wasn't her comforting thought.

What the hell?! This wasn't KOTOR, this was the original trilogy! The most people were able to do here was throw objects at each other like telekinetic cavemen and grunt occasionally to get a lightsaber to return to their hands. And even that failed half the time! There was no blank-slating of people here; otherwise the Emperor would have owed Disney a freaking butt-ton of royalties for turning the Galactic Senate into Jim Henson's next Muppet cast!

Alvin took that moment to pop up again, nattering about a certain conversation that Grand Admiral Thrawn was going to have nine years from now on Wayland with a certain Mad Jedi Master Clone (wow, say that one five times real fast!) and an angry Captain Pellaeon. Something about the Emperor exerting his Force presence throughout the Imperial Fleet, superimposing his will over every member in uniform, making them living extensions of his desires.

In essence, I realized with a sinking sensation, turning them into puppets. Oh fuck me _sideways_!

"You're programming her," I wanted to scream that, but I was still trying to get my lungs and heart on the same page to work properly, what with Vader's fist in the way. It came out as a hushed statement of outrage. "That's not the way the story goes. You're not supposed to do that!"

"Because she's my daughter?"

If I wasn't already kneeling, that one would have knocked the feet out from under me. Oh holy… son of a… I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. The hand on my heart kept any of those things from happening.

This was my fault. What he was doing to her was my fault. Because I couldn't keep my mouth shut or my thoughts to myself. Because I told him what she was to him in a fit of self-righteous anger over his part in the destruction of Alderaan. I had tried to hurt him because I was hurting, and now he was returning the favor.

I had to fix this. I had to try.

"Yes," I tried to shout. Failed at that, too. "You love her. I know you do. Well, not yet you do, but you will. So please, stop playing Scrabble with her grey matter before it starts leaking out her nose or something. Let me call a doctor."

I took Leia's hand, trying to provide comfort, to do anything in my helpless state. Her fingers curled around mine, her eyes flickering in my direction. For a precious second, her eyes focused on me. Her mouth formed a soundless word, but I couldn't make it out. Then Lord H—err Vader—drug her consciousness back into whatever nightmare he'd constructed for her. Her fingers remained around mine, however, and I wasn't about to let go.

"Why?" he asked.

Uh, non sequitur much? "Why what?"

"She does not know who you are. She does not like you. Why do you care about her fate?"

Because she's a rockstar! Because she's Princess Fucking Leia, that's why! And she'd done more for feminine rights than probably anyone since women won the right to vote in the 1920s. Everyone loved Leia. And I was getting pissed off that he was trying to tear her down, that he was going to make a traitor out of her. Turn her into a double agent to the Rebellion or something. Who knew what sort of programming he was doing in there!

"You idolize her. I can feel your anger at her fate. Most satisfying."

"Stop talking about me like I'm a science experiment," I said between gritted teeth, trying to force my heart to beat faster, to get that adrenaline pumping. Anger I could handle, but this fear crap was getting old real fast. "I'm not your slave."

"No, you are too strong willed for slavery. You are now my servant. As is she."

She? Me? Leia? Servants? Did he eat too much sand as a child or something, too many whacks to the head in failed pod-races? Was he _nuts_?

"What happened to being a rebel? I thought I was beneath your attentions. I'm not a Force user. You confirmed that yourself. How can I be your servant?"

"Your destiny is tied in with hers, and hers is tied to mine. I have foreseen it."

"I thought only Uncle Palp—I mean the illustrious Emperor may he live forever yada yada yay go Empire whatever—was the one who did the foreseeing in your relationship."

The hand squeezed, and I was back on hands and knees before I knew it, one inch away from kissing the deck. "I find your lack of respect disturbing, servant. You will learn it, or you will perish."

Don't know how long I squirmed on the deck that time, but the pressure let up right before I passed out. I found myself flat on my back, blinking up at the red muted lights, my body and mind fuzzy. It reminded me of how this all started, waking up on the _Tantive IV_ and staring up at—

"Interesting. Your feelings betray you," Vader said softly, tiny invisible knives stabbing into my emotions. "Commander Praji, of all the men I hand-selected to serve under my command, I would not have expected this of him. And Grand Admiral Thrawn… I see your feelings for him, too, your hero worship of his abilities. You would be foolish to mistake his actions towards you as compassion. Shall I give them to you, servant, and peel away the layers of what you think you know of each, expose the true man beneath?"

I tried to flip over on my stomach, but my body didn't like that plan. I shook my head in the negative. He'd do it, the sick son of a bitch. He'd reach into their heads and make a display of them right here in front of everyone. Just to prove that he could.

Hurt them just to hurt me.

I shook my head again, trying to clear it. No, it would destroy both of them to be made a spectacle of like that. It was my bad luck that my taste in men ran towards the tall, prideful, stubborn to a fault when they felt they were in the right, badboys. Praji and Thrawn fit that bill to the letter. I couldn't let that happen, couldn't let anyone else be hurt like Leia. No matter what.

"And now I have it," Vader nearly purred, satisfaction dripping from every word. "I could kill you right here and now, and you would not care. But if I harm Praji, Thrawn, or Leia, it would destroy you. That is the key to unlocking you, just as the destruction of Alderaan was the key to unlocking my daughter."

I licked my lips, eyes rolling upwards to stare at him. He had me. The bastard had my number. "What do you want?"

"From you? Nothing but your attention. You will learn your place, servant. And your punishment is to watch as I ensure that my daughter does her duty. Fear not for her future, for if she does as I decree, she will have a lasting position at my side. If you do as I tell you, you'll be free to have your Commander Praji. And possibly even Thrawn."

I shook my head, eyes closed tightly. This was so wrong! How did it get so wrong?! It was supposed to be Luke he was going after, not Leia. How… how had I let this happen?!

"This is my fault, isn't it?" I asked through my tears, needing to hear the damning confirmation. "You _were_ paying attention in the detention block this morning. I showed you who she really was."

"Yes."

It was all he needed to say. Something wrapped around me, dragging me across the deck until I was sitting at his feet, my back pressed against his armored legs. My head forced upwards in invisible bonds to stare into Leia's eyes. We wept together, she and I, as everything we both knew and loved about this galaxy was about to be irrevocably changed.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: I'm once more thanking everyone for the reviews and private messages. I love this story and I'm so glad everyone is enjoying it... ::slants a look at Mary:: Well, almost everyone is enjoying it. She's a little concerned with the way things are progressing, but I'm loving it. So I guess it gets to stay that way. As always, I respond to every review that I can. Apologies to those that review without a link. I can't respond to those, so I just hope you understand how much I love the reviews. Oh, this time around I couldn't help but pick on Disney. I have love for Disney, so don't think I hate them. It just fit perfectly in this scene.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun!

* * *

The surface beneath me was too soft.

That was the first thought that came to mind when consciousness reclaimed me. I was laying on something soft and warm and comfortable. For a moment, a blessed wonderful moment, I actually believed that I was at home in my bed. I allowed myself the luxury of snuggling in deeper to the mattress, pulling the blanket up over my head. Any minute now, my alarm would go off and I would begin my day (well, my evening, being that I was a bartender. I normally didn't crawl out of bed until 4pm) with throwing every single Star Wars book, DVD, costume, and piece of memorabilia I owned out my fifth story bedroom window.

501st Costuming membership award and pictures? Kiss pavement. DVD collection? So long, sucka. Lightsaber signed by Mark Hamill? Hello, landfill! And so on and so forth.

And then I would gather up what remained of those items, douse it with a fifth of Jack Daniels, and light that crap on fire. Gleefully dancing a happy booty dance around the flames while it burned. I had enough cash in my emergency fund to pay for the citation the police would give me for starting a fire without a permit. No objection here, officer, I'll gladly take the ticket! Like they would believe me anyway if I tried to tell them the reason for my impromptu death-by-fire of my former favorite items. After being locked up on the dream-Death-Star I wasn't looking forward to another cell, especially if this one was all white and filled with padding.

Then I'd take that bunch of ashes that was a lifetime of collecting out to the Hudson and dump them into a watery grave with the rest of the unwanted memories people dropped there.

Consider that my official break-up letter to LucasFilms. I was done with Star Wars. Forever. End of list. That's all she wrote. Ta da! I'd even toast with what was left of the bottle of Jack before dumping that in the water, too. Now _that_ was a comforting thought.

But the alarm didn't go off, and the soft surface beneath me ended a lot sooner than it should. My bed was bigger than this. I should be able to stretch my arms all the way out on both sides and not touch empty air or wall. That made me frown, made me crack open an eye.

I was back in my prison cell.

"No freaking way!" I screamed, bolting upright. "This has to be some kind of mistake. I can't do this again! I can't go through another round of this crap. You have to let me go! I—"

I ended up on the floor once again, face first as always. This time, luckily, I didn't break anything. Mostly because the thick padding that had been placed on my shelf/bed/torture thing had become twisted with the soft blanket, which in turn was all wrapped up in the full skirts of my dress. So when I went down hard due to my panicked thrashing, all that came with me. I landed with a muted prissy "oof!" rather than a crack of bone.

And typical of my life, when I was in the most compromising of positions, Lady Fate beat me with the Reality Stick until I came to my senses and understood my surroundings.

There was a tiny padded stool in one corner of my cell that shouldn't have been there, a section of the wall folded out like a tray. On it sat a plate of food—real food and not a ration bar—and smelled so heavenly I would have run to it if not for the wad of fabric that I was cocooned within. As I was making with my emergence like some sort of miniature starving Mothra, I noticed that the other wall boasted a full length mirror now.

I glanced at it. Trust me, one glance was all it took.

"I'll kill him!" I shrieked, shedding the last of my blanket and stumbling towards the mirror, gawking at my reflection. "You hear me, Lord Hater? Your ass is so mine for what you've done!"

The son of a bitch had _Princessed_ me! Yes, that was an actual verb. Any female that had visited Walt Disney World or DisneyLand knew that dreaded verbiage. If you were a little girl six years of age or under, you loved the Princessing experience. But any female over the age of thirteen learned to wail in fear at it.

I stood staring at myself in that mirror, taking in the full skirts, the tight fitting bodice and off the shoulder long sleeves of my dress. It was all in black, of course, with a belt of heavy silver medallions (each emblazoned with the Imperial sigil) encircling my waist. The dress was a carbon copy of Sleeping Beauty's dress, except, again, in black instead of pink. And instead of her crown, I wore a circlet of silver that resembled it, except inverted so the point rested delicately just between my eyebrows.

Somehow he'd found a hair stylist that had given my limp locks a makeover, so the blonde waves shone in the muted lights. And was that… yes, I was wearing mascara! I never wore mascara! No matter how waterproof they said it was, it never lasted through a shift at the bar. It would always run into my eyes. But I was wearing it now, and it miraculously made my eyes look like Leia's, like large dark pools worth falling into.

Son of a… If Princess Aurora and Morticia Addams got together and had a kid, I would have been that kid. Gothic Disney Princess Barbie at your service! I was going to rip every wire out of Lord bloody Hater's body with my bare hands. And not because of the gown he'd chosen, but because it wasn't _just_ a gown. It was livery, in his chosen colors of black and silver. Might as well exchange the circlet for a French maid cap, for it meant the same damn thing.

Servitude, this outfit said, no matter how lovely or how rich the fabric. I was his servant.

Death was too good for him!

My cell door slid open suddenly, and I threw up a hand to my eyes as pure white light flooded inward. Smoke came next, the scent of charred flesh and the sharp tang of electrical burns quickly on its heels. People screamed, bodies fell to the floor in a clatter of white armor, and over that all a cacophony of blaster fire added a frightening sort of background music to the events.

A stormtrooper popped his helmeted head in, scanned the cell before settling on me. "You!" he exclaimed through that stupid filter-speaker in the helmet. "You're the Lady Aurora Soresen, right?"

Lady who? What? And was that… yes, it was! It was Luke's voice. Holy crap, they were here to save the Princess already? How freaking long had I been asleep this time?!

"Yes!" I exclaimed, rushing over to him, trying not to trip on the stupid skirt. I was never good in long skirts. "I mean, no. I'm not—"

My throat constricted unexpectedly, cutting off the words, and my hands flew to my neck. What was wrong with me? Was it the smoke in the air? Sudden stage fright from meeting my childhood crush face to face? Dude, it was Luke Skywalker! Not an actor, but the real guy! I used to fall asleep as a little girl staring up at a poster of him tacked above my bed, my arms wrapped around a plushy Chewie. Until I turned thirteen, I meant, and found out I had inherited my mother's weakness for bad men. Then Luke was replaced with Vader. And when Revenge of the Sith came out, Vader was replaced with Jedi Anakin.

Yes, I realize ROTS came out recently. And yes, I still slept with my plushy Chewie to this day. Don't judge. Some habits die hard.

I tried again to say that I wasn't this Lady whatsherface. And again, my throat closed up on me. "I'm M… I'm M…"

Real fear wrapped around my heart this time instead of Vader's fist. You can do this, I screamed at myself. Tell him your name. Say the words: Mary Vasquez. Say Mary Vasquez! I tried again, and again met with the same windpipe-closing results.

I was literally choking on my own name.

And as if that wasn't bad enough, it all came back to me. Memories of how I went from the party to my cell filled my lungs with a scream I would never give voice...

Vader had finished with Leia, her head slumping forward until her chin touched her chest, red blood-tinged tears sliding down her cheeks. I had reached for her, fearing that he'd finally killed his daughter, that he'd literally crossed a wire in the processor he called a brain and melted hers into slag. He'd let me lunge for her; let me cup her face in my hands, pushing our foreheads together as I wept. As I promised her that I'd find a way to make this right.

And then he was behind me, gloved hand slipping through my hair like Fucktard Motti had tried to do, caressing his new pet. Telling me that I would make a good servant, that when his daughter was truly at his side, I would serve her, too. I'd lost my mind at him, too stupid and scared and angry to remember how well _that _crap worked the last time I tried it.

My anger left me wide open for his attack, his mental fingers raking down the inside of my skull, teaching me that I had a lot left to learn about pain. I screamed at him anyway that I wasn't his toy, I wasn't some Barbie and Leia wasn't some Disney Princess he could pack up in a glass case when he was done playing with us. He laughed, the sound like an electronic grating of nails on a chalkboard.

He'd said that I gave him the most intriguing of ideas. I would be rewarded for them.

But I guess the reward portion of my time with him was yet to come. Because I'm pretty sure what happened next was the exact opposite of reward. His Force fingers turned into a giant iron fist, smashing into my memories over and over and over until I'd blacked out. Shattering me just like he had shattered Leia.

Just like the pieces of Alderaan floating out there beyond the window.

My last thoughts as consciousness left me was a hope that I would sleep for a thousand years, like Princess Aurora in Sleeping Beauty, rather than wake up to this nightmare again. But even my enchanted sleep wasn't safe. Whispered words like the hiss of poisoned vipers infiltrated that blackness, putting up roadblocks in my mind, creating pathways in other portions that did not exist before. I couldn't thrash away, couldn't move.

Couldn't. stop._ him! _

How do you run away from yourself? From something that was literally inside the cells of your brain, playing Tetris with your neurons? The answer, of course, was that you couldn't. You were really and truly screwed. And out of my mouth came that half-swallowed, half stuttered sigh that Leia had made... the sound of a scream unable to fulfill its purpose.

The sound of ultimate despair.

The Force can do terrible things to the mind, I remembered Carth Onasi saying in KOTOR. I suddenly regretted with the passion of a thousand fiery supernovas the moment I daydreamed about being female Revan. Careful what you wish for, right?

I didn't get to finish taking my mental inventory to see what else Lord Hater had reinvented in my head. Leia barged into my cell, her eyes fierce and strong as she found me. "Yes, that's her!" she shouted above the fighting. "She needs to come with us. Hurry!"

Luke grabbed my arm, dragging me forward and out.

"But I'm not… I'm… You have to listen to me!" I screamed. "I'm not… I am… My name is M… M…"

_I'm Mary Vasquez! I'm Mary Freaking Vasquez! I live in Manhattan, New York! I was born on Earth! My parents are Meredith and Alejandro Vasquez and they live in Florida! I work at a club called The Nevermore, and I'm a bartender! I'm Mary Vasquez! I'M MARIA ELENA VASQUEZ!_

None of that would come out of my mouth. No matter how much I tried.

"I'm Lady Aurora Soresen," I whispered dully as Luke shoved me behind him, next to Leia. "Oh god, what has he done to me?"

Princess Aurora, that was my new name. Sleeping Beauty. Man, Vader had a sick sense of humor.

"No!" Leia screamed sternly into my ear over the fighting, holding my hand tightly… like I had done with her. "Don't give up now, Aurora. We're getting out of here. You wouldn't leave me behind when we were girls and I fell into that ravine. I won't leave you here, either. Now stay firm! The Rebellion needs us!"

My mouth fell open, appalled at what she was blabbering. Surely even Vader couldn't put a lifetime's worth of memories into her head without something seeming wonky! I mean, I had no memory of—

And there it was, called to mind as easily as any other thought in my head. I saw in my mind's eye two little girls I knew I'd never seen before, playing hide and seek in a castle garden I'd never personally visited, knowing they weren't supposed to go so far out, so close to the wall that was being repaired. They were chasing butterflies, glittery little butterflies that had jeweled antenna and wings of the thinnest silk. They were laughing and telling secrets to each other.

And the little brunette slipped on the rubble of the broken wall, tumbling out of sight. The little blonde—the little _ME_ I realized!—had screamed her five-year-old head off, holding onto Leia's tiny hand through the pain of the rough rocks beneath her and the crying of her little muscles. Determined to hold to her best friend until hell froze over.

"That's not…" My tongue clove to the roof of my mouth before I could add _"my memory"_ to that statement. "Leia, I'm not…" Dammit, why couldn't I say it!

A blaster bolt scorched the steel above our heads, ending my protests abruptly. Leia and I slammed ourselves out of the way before the melted metal could fall on us. Huddling together like… like little girls in a garden. I looked into her eyes, saw nothing but the determination to survive that should be there. Saw nothing of the sleeper personality that Vader must have hidden in her mind somewhere, like he'd done to me. Only I was fully aware of mine… and helpless to do anything about it.

Was that my reward or punishment, I had to wonder.

"We can't go back that way!" Han Solo shouted above the blaster fire.

Oh, yeah, there was that little problem of a firefight going on around us, wasn't there?

Leia and I both turned in unison, her eyes turning cold and mine widening in disbelief as we took in the man before us. After all I had been through already, I was still stunned to my fangirl core to be staring at Han Solo. He spared a few seconds to fit a new energy pack into his weapon, using that motion to get an eyeful of both our huddling forms from head to toe. And even in the middle of a fight-for-your-life, the man had the audacity to put an approving light into those eyes of his, a roguish smile tipping his totally kissable mouth. Give him a rose in his fingers instead of a gun, and we'd have ourselves the most delicious "Bachelor" to ever grace Reality TV.

Holy frick, he was even better looking in person than on film.

And Chewie! Chewie was there, wookie-growling curses that probably would have made me blush if I could speak Shriwook or at the very least sit up and take notes. I wanted to run from my cover and hug the big furball, cuddle him like my plushy. His death in the Expanded Universe novels had been heartbreaking and, while I didn't want to say useless, it was needless in my opinion. Seeing him alive was like finding a penny heads-up on the sidewalk: it was a sign of good luck.

If Chewbacca was still alive and kicking, then I knew everything would somehow be alright. I just had to survive long enough to get to Dagobah. If I could get to Master Yoda, surely he'd fix my broken head, right? Right?! Unless… unless I was supposed to go there according to Vader's mind tampering. Unless I was supposed to lead him to the tiny Jedi Master?

Oh son of a freaking _bitch_, I couldn't even trust myself now!

"Two princesses?" Han snarled, staring daggers at Luke. "You only mentioned one. Bad enough trying to get four of us out of here, but now five? Looks like you really enjoy playing the odds, kid."

Leia managed an indignant sniff, even in the midst of a gun battle. "What it _looks_ like is that you've managed to cut off our only escape route. This is a detention area, you know. They don't build them with multiple exits."

"Begging your forgiveness, Your Highness," Solo replied in a tone that was anything but begging or respectful, squeezing off another round of shots and taking down another trooper. "But maybe you'd prefer it back in your cell?"

"Enough, you two. There's got to be another way out," Luke cut in, pulling a tampon-shaped device from a belt case and speaking into it. "See Threepio… See Threepio! We've been cut off here. Are there any other ways out of the detention area—anything at all? What's that… I didn't copy."

I huddled down behind Luke's shoulder, feeling a rush of adrenaline… and a sort of treacherous fear. Was Praji out there in that firefight? Was he wounded? Was he dead? Was I really caring about that? Yes, I admitted bitterly. Vader had been right. I cared deeply what happened to him. And every stormtrooper that hit that floor unmoving, a black smoldering hole in the front of his armor (seriously, why did they wear it in the first place if it didn't block so much as a stun pistol's worth of energy!), was Nadonnis. It was enough to make me want to leap out into the smoke and haze, surrendering.

"There isn't any other way out!" Luke screamed to Han.

"Well, they're closing in on us," Han retorted. "What do we do now?"

"This is some rescue," Leia the Irritated snapped. "When you came in here, didn't you have a plan for getting out?"

Han jerked his chin towards Luke. "He's the brains, sweetheart."

And apparently that's when Leia had had enough. I wanted to shake her like a freaking maraca. Now she was showing all sorts of guts and glory? It had never bothered me in the movies that she just now came out of her little shell and became the badass we all knew and loved. That had been surprising and refreshing at the time.

But having gone through four plus days of the most horrific crap ever imagined, I was a little offended that she decided at random that a half-botched rescue attempt was her proverbial last straw. I'd been fighting and kicking and screaming the whole time. She'd been… well… a dainty princess waiting for rescue. She had reminded me of that scene from Shrek 3 when all the princesses got together and formed a great plan to escape—just sit there and wait.

But now that the rescue was there, it wasn't good enough? Now she decided to spin around and reveal her Wonder Woman underoos?

"Well, I—hey!" Luke cried as Leia literally ripped the blaster from his hands.

Like the hero she was born to be, I begrudgingly admitted, and like the woman that had captured the hearts of men and women all over the world, she laid down her own line of cover fire, crossing from one side of the detention hall to the other. One final shot blasted open the grate near Han's foot, causing the smuggler to nearly dance out of his concealment as if someone had lit a firecracker under his ass.

"What do you think you're doing?!"

"It looks like it's up to me to save our skins," she tossed Luke's blaster back at him, wadding up part of her sleeves in each hand to grip the hot twisted metal that had once been a security grate. "Get into that garbage chute, Flyboy!"

And like Keyser Soze, in a flash she was gone, leaving us no choice but to follow or be blasted to pieces. Luke glanced over his shoulder at me, as if waiting for me to suddenly reveal that I was a super hero, too. Like I was hiding an X-men uniform under all those layers of skirts or something. I glanced back at him with a look that said I was anything _but_. Surprisingly it made him smile shyly, like my less than astronomical inner strength was a comfort. That I was just as scared as he was.

Oddly, that smile made me feel better, too, and I couldn't help myself. I pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. "For luck," I said, stealing Leia's line.

He blushed like a schoolboy, his grin widening, making him look younger than his twenty years. Making me feel like a cradle robber, I grasped with a sinking feeling. He was barely a man, and I was a few months shy of turning the big 3-0. Granted, ten years wasn't much in the grand scheme of things, but maturity wise? Ehhh, it still made me feel like that old man in Family Guy, the one always chasing Chris around.

By the time I got my head back into the game, Luke had reloaded his blaster with a fresh pack. Still smiling at me as if he'd been kissed by a real princess. And then he was laying down the cover fire the same way Leia had, motioning for me to follow the only true princess in this situation. Bracing myself, I dove behind him and into the chute after my new best friend.

As I ricocheted like a renegade pinball towards the worst smelling substance I had ever known, and coming from a bartender in the Lower West side of Manhattan, that's really saying a lot, I wanted to kick myself. I'd always dreamed of being Leia's best friend, even as a little girl. And now I was, thanks to Lord Hater scrambling her memories like a rubric's cube. I'd always daydreamed of being female Revan, too. Again, thanks to the twisted generosity of anti-Santa Claus, I was that as well.

Except I wasn't a Force user like Revan, just somebody mentally scrambled by it. And I wasn't with Carth Onasi, a gorgeous stubborn solider for the Republic, either. But I did have a Praji… sort of… and he was a gorgeous stubborn solider for the Empire. That counted, right?

All of my wishes had come true from the age of six until now. I was a Gothic-Disney-Princess-Bestie-to-Leia-wannabe-Female-Revan. All in one nifty little terror-soaked package. How efficient.

If I survived this, I was never going to wish for anything again.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Thank you all again for the reviews and private messages. :) I'm trying to transition this back to the lighter humor for a while after so much darkness. Apologies if it falls flat in places. I really struggled with this chapter. I took most of the established dialogue from the published "A New Hope" novel by George Lucas. Lord of the Rings and all associated references lovingly borrowed from who ever owns them.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun.

* * *

"Aurora, let go!"

"You let go!" I snapped back frantically, holding on for dear life.

Below me, Leia sighed in exasperation. "In case you missed the holonet announcement, I'm not holding onto anything. I assure you, it's quite safe down here. Just a little… dirty. So, again, Aurora, let go!"

"Never!" I shook my head frantically. Safe? Hah! If she knew half what I did about what was going to happen in the next fifteen minutes, safe would have been the last word that would have come out of her mouth. "And stop calling me that!"

"Oh for the love of the stars, you are acting like such a child…" The exasperated sigh morphed into a vexed sound, and if I didn't know any better, I would have sworn she was getting ready to leap up and grab my legs to force me down. "Fine. _Rori_, let go. The fall isn't that bad. You can almost reach the top of the refuse heap already."

Rori? Vader had seen fit to install nicknames in us, too? I had to give it to the Mad Hater for his thoroughness. He didn't miss a trick, including implanting all sorts of pet names for each other that would have evolved in a typical friendship. Nothing to detract from the "truth" that we had grown up together, that we were the best of friends. Knowing him, he'd probably turned to the Intelligence division, asking that band of raging gossips to come up with this crap.

I smirked a bit at that thought. Imagining that the Imperial Intelligence Division was nothing more than the cast of "Mean Girls" and "High School Musical" all rolled into one, lounging around on giant bright pink pillows, cataloging rumors in heart-shaped notebooks that smelled of glitter and roses. I mean, it did sorta make twisted sense. Intelligence did nothing more than run down anecdotes and verify the truth of things, (say, like my supposed background on Abregado-Rae, for instance. I still had no idea how Grand Admiral Dragon-boy had managed to figure that one out so quickly!) digging out secrets that they weren't supposed to know but felt the need to pry into to anyway.

Kind of like cheerleaders. Cheerleaders with blaster rifles. I would have said "blasters and bad attitudes" but if you've ever met a cheerleader, you'd know the harpy-like tendencies were already built into their DNA. That part wasn't left hanging out of the job description.

And speaking of being left hanging… my arms were in the middle of protesting the rough treatment I was putting them under. I was currently dangling from the top of the garbage chute, clinging by my fingernails to a raised lip around it. When I'd come shooting out of the tube like some effed up version of a water slide, I hadn't flailed about like an uncoordinated toddler. I'd actually caught the edge, letting Luke slide out behind me and plummet head-first into the liquid sludge that gave the place its pungent aroma.

Super. The one time I have a moment of sheer perfect coordination and I end up turning myself into a dangling Princess-shaped Christmas ornament. Or would that be air freshener? Like it mattered at that point, because I wasn't going to let go. Nothing Leia could say would change my mind. Somebody wrap some festive garland around my legs, because I was staying for the season!

The chute was higher off the ground than it was in the movies, or maybe the scene had been shot at a tricky camera angle that made it look lower to the trash than it was. Whatever the case, with my luck I'd fall into the one section of garbage that was all discarded Ewok spears or something. Then I would be Gothic-Disney-Princess-Revan on a stick. So not happening!

Chewie made the wookie equivalent version of Leia's vexed sigh. He clambered up the mountain of trash and extended his arms up at me, hands waving me downward. His expression said it all. My plushy was going to save me from the wicked garbage just like he saved me from wicked dreams. I looked down into that face and would have let go gracefully… if I hadn't had help in the form of a hollering smuggler head-butting me on his way down. Thusly proving that my moment of perfect coordination was merely an elaborate set-up by Lady Fate for an even bigger fall.

To his credit, Chewie did his best to leap up and pull me out of the way. But again, this was me and my craptastic luck we were talking about, so things didn't exactly go according to plan. Chewie landed on his stomach. I landed on his back, face up. And Han… Han landed on me, face down, the three of us tobogganing down the garbage hill like some cracked-up South Park skit.

We skidded to a halt right before the great plunge into the Bog of Eternal Stench.

I mentioned that Han had landed on top of me, face down, right?

His eyebrows quirked a bit, that trademark lopsided grin appearing on his mouth. Which was in kissing distance, I might add. "Hey," he said softly, somehow making that one word sexy.

"Hey, yourself," I found myself saying in return before I could stop.

Oh don't look at me like that. Yeah, I had a thing for Praji. And no, I wouldn't have done anything with Han, not to mention that his future wife staring daggers at us. And especially not on top of a bunch of discarded Imp-dick-rubbish. Mercifully, I didn't have to ask Han to climb off of me. Chewie made an odd, half-swallowed gargling sound beneath us. In unison, we looked back at him… and I didn't protest a wit when Han yanked me up rather swiftly by the waist and tossed me unceremoniously onto the top of the heap.

"Sorry, pal," Han muttered as the wookie extracted his head from the water/muck/sludge, spitting out a mouthful of it, and something word-wise that had Han shooting him a wounded look. "You're blaming me? It wasn't my fault. I didn't ask to come plunging down into the garbage dump. This was someone else's wonderful idea," he finished sourly, glancing around before staring hard at the future love of his life. "What an incredible smell you discovered. Unfortunately, we can't ride out of here on a drifting odor, and there doesn't seem to be any other exit. Unless I can get this hatch open."

"No, wait!" Luke called.

Oh, son of a… I'd almost forgotten about this part. I dove for cover before Han ever lifted his blaster. I wasn't stupid. I was still the comic relief of this group, and a random blaster shot seemed a great way to kill said comic relief in a useless, tragically dumb way. If I didn't want a death-by-impalement, I certainly didn't want a death by stupid-smuggler-angry-shot.

"I already tried it," Luke snapped/screamed. "It's magnetically sealed!"

"Put that thing away or you're going to get us all killed!"

"Absolutely, Your Worship," Han retorted hotly. "It won't take long for them to figure out what happened to us. We had things well under control—until you led us down here."

Leia's scathing look was almost enough to have me jumping back into the garbage pile again. "Sure you did. Oh well, it could be worse."

I moaned. She just had to go there, didn't she?

I was waving my hands in the air as if trying to signal for an airplane to land. "What is wrong with you? You never say that! It's like begging Fate to put her Prada-clad foot right up your ass. In fact, why are any of you standing in the water? Get out of the water! Do it right now. Shark! SHARK!"

Screaming shark at the Coney Island beach back home was the fastest way to get everyone's attention. People who wouldn't have given you the sweat off their ass if you were dying of thirst in a desert suddenly trusted you as if you were their mother. There wasn't any reason to not think it would work here, either.

Except for the fact that there wasn't a shark present, and this wasn't a group of New Yorkers.

Everyone stared at me as if I had lost my mind, all except for Luke. He practically scaled the wall at my words, leaping out of muck and onto the stack of garbage that I was currently climbing like a champ. I grabbed his hand, helping to haul him up with me. Now I remembered this part of the movie all too well, and since Chewie had already won the Dumb Luck Lottery (his prize being half submerged in filth and a mouth full of whatever passed for liquid in this rusted out dumpster) I felt that Luke should be spared the experience.

It dawned on me too late that maybe, possibly, I shouldn't have done that. That I should stop messing with the established timelines. Bad crap had happened each and every time I'd altered something that George Lucas had written. Example: Saved Leia for a stunbolt, and suddenly Thrass was alive and well and living the Imperial Dream. Be present when Alderaan was blown to bits, and now Leia was all mind-wonkied into a traitor. I didn't need to be Sherlock to figure out that a pattern existed.

It was pure cause and effect. I changed something, and then something worse took its place.

Luke joined me at the top… just in time for a growling metal-warping sound to emanate from the trash around us. To me, at least, it sounded like Lady Fate warming up her couture footgear and getting ready to punt us all for distance.

Everyone froze. Everyone glanced around. Except for me. This time, I got to glare at Leia accusingly. "Told you. Never say 'could be worse' again!"

"Uh, didn't you just say it?" Luke put in cautiously.

I winced, glaring at him. "It doesn't count if you use it in example. Whose side are you on, anyway?"

He had the grace to shrug uncomfortably. "The side that lives, honestly."

What could I say to that?

"What was that?" Han shifted, leaping up onto the nearest pile of rubbish, weapon held at the ready.

"I'm not too sure," Luke whispered, doing the same. "Something just moved past you, I think, in the water…"

And this is the point where I really did regret changing anything about this universe. Instead of the traditional scene where Luke went down in the water and Han shot uselessly at anything that remotely resembled a thick ropey rubbery tentacle, we were treated to an upsurge of water and refuse, and to enough tentacles to make the octopus-looking monster that had tried to eat everyone's head at the entrance to the Mines of Moria red-faced with envy. I shit you not. Seriously, I couldn't make this crap up if I tried!

Flailing vine-like appendages were suddenly everywhere, popping out of the water and out of the rubbish heaps, wrapping around anything they could touch. Horrid deep-throated shrieks exploded from beneath the liquid, splashing the foul brew over everything when they bubbled to the surface.

Holy wrong trilogy, Batman!

Han fired. Luke fired. Both swinging into action like laser-pistol packing imitations of Legolas and Aragorn, with Chewie swinging a broken length of deck plating like Gimli and his war axe. Not to be left out, Leia and I made like Merry and Pippin and hurled whatever small objects we could find. It didn't work so well for us, either. But hey, anything was a help, right?

"Shoot it in the face! Kill it!" Luke screamed.

"The face?!" Han returned. "I can't even see the head!"

"That's it," I screamed. "I'm going to find the Imp-dick who flushed his baby pet octopus down the drain and beat him to death. Seriously, who knows what kind of mutant sludge the Imp's put down their pipes? Someone call the EPA! Animal Control! PETA!"

Beside me, Leia laughed. "Still the same sarcastic wit that had you banned from father's court. I've missed you so much, Rori!"

I almost fell from my Tower-o-sharp-throwy-things, staring at her. "What?"

"I'm still angry that you ran off and accepted Lord Thrass's offer to become his mistress when father banned you from court. But when you turned to Admiral Thrawn for protection when Thrass married Threnody instead of you?" She shook her head, frowning darkly, sadly even. "I could have protected you more than he ever could. You were like my sister, and I needed you. The Rebellion needed you."

Her father's court? Kicked out for _sarcasm _(seriously, some lawmaker had nothing better to do than ban snarky comments?)? Thrawn's _mistress_? I felt my eyes cross from the absurdity of the whole thing. And speaking of absurd, why did everything always have to circle back to the freaking Blue-Brothers-Grimm?

"WHAT?!" I shrieked.

She didn't look at me, her face set in rigid lines of disapproval. Probably thinking that I was all set to argue with her. Which I was, don't get me wrong, but not the way she was anticipating. I wasn't going to defend myself and my so-called actions of running away from a planet I'd never freaking set foot on. I was about to empty both proverbial barrels of my vocal shotgun into her pretty face, setting her straight if she thought for even a moment that I was bedding either Chiss. Had everyone in this freaking galaxy lost their damn minds?! I would never—

A memory tried to surface, a bed the size of a small lake ringed in shimmering silk curtains. My hands were held above my head, wrists locked together in the slender fingers of one of his hands. His glowing eyes closed as he—

I slipped. Fell on my ass. Skidded halfway down the Mountain of Rubbish. That wasn't how that had happened or where it had happened. Or even who it had happened with! _Praji _had held my hands like that on the _Death Star. Praji's_ eyes had closed when he... Anyway, that part wasn't important. What _was_ important was it was SO NOT THRAWN! And not on a bed that cost more than an entire planet! This was all Vader's doing, taunting me with what he thought I wanted of the Grand Admiral, gifting me with a memory of something that had never happened. Teasing me with what he could give me if I served him well…

I shuddered. No, I didn't want that. Okay, once upon a time I had wanted that, wanted it with a passion. But that was when I was just a fangirl and Star Wars was just make-believe. Before a certain Blue-Eyed dilhole had walked into my life.

Leia ignored my shocked stare, kept throwing the junk at the monster with a viciousness that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with me. Or rather the way she thought she felt about me. I threw junk, too, matching the rage in her swings with a wrath of my own. The monster wasn't going to kick its own butt. And the guys were too busy playing Lord of the Rings with it to notice what we were saying to each other.

Oh, I was going to do more than rip out Hater's wires for this. I was going to hook them up backwards to the Death Star's main energy reactor and watch him run around like the Energizer Bunny on crack before the power surge overloaded his systems. Then I would enjoy watching his parts fly off in rapid succession like freshly popped popcorn when I upped the voltage. Seriously, Thrass? And _Thrawn_? Why not Praji? Hell, why not half the Imperial Court at this rate! That would have at least been somewhat believable!

"Dammit, Lei, it's not what you think. Nothing happened between... You don't understand that Vader has…" My tongue writhed away from the words and for the life of me I couldn't tell her the truth.

And waitaminute… did I just call her Lei? Did I just use a nickname I had never given her without realizing it? Oh, bloody screw me freaking crap crap _CRAP!_

"Now's not the time, Rori," she screamed, ducking with me as a flailing tentacle made a grab for our heads. Thankfully Chewie was nearby, going Conan on the slimy thing before it could try to ensnare us again. "I'm still angry, but I'm relieved that you're on our side now. We'll talk when we're free. Until then—"

She didn't get to finish that sentence. Because the monster suddenly vanished, all its tentacles slipping back into the bowels of this fish bowl they called a Death Star. We all stared around together, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Until I remembered what that other shoe was. And it wasn't one of my beloved Converse.

I sighed heavily, plopping down on our mountain of garbage. Trying not to let the irony of that image hit too close to home. "Here comes the 'worse' part."

"You're damn right," Han snarled, stalking over to me. "How did you know about that creature? How do you know what's coming next?"

"Leave her alone," Leia hissed in a rare display of temper, shoving his armored shoulder hard enough that he almost slipped on the garbage and took a header into the muck. "She's a noble of Alderaan's court. And she knows a lot about this place because of who she used to… serve," she finished delicately. "But that's behind her now. She's with us. Or have you forgotten that we rescued her, too?"

"I didn't miss it," he snapped back, regaining his footing. "Just like I won't miss if she decides to switch her loyalties back to whomever she so willingly _served. _So tell me, Princess, what's coming next?"

Did he just threaten to shoot me if he thought for one foggy minute I was going to go running to the Imp-dicks? Did Captain-Imperial-Wash-Out just imply that he knew what Leia was trying to tactfully cover? Was he calling me a whore? So much for the sexy talk from before!

"Listen up, you trigger-happy obnoxious twit," I seethed, not bothering to correct him in calling me a princess. It wouldn't have worked even if I could get the words out of my mouth. "First, you are going to back the hell off. And second, yes, I know what's about to happen next and you're not going to like it. Mr. Former-Imperial-Officer that you are, you should know what's coming next, too. Tell me, what would you do if you were still an Imp-dick and you figured out where we were had gone?"

He stared at me dubiously, anger and shock warring for control in his eyes. Probably wondering how I knew about his Imperial past. Which was something I doubtlessly should have kept to myself, especially considering he owed the ship that was my ticket off this station. Then I saw the implications of my words sank in. I could tell the moment it penetrated the layers of suborn that wrapped his brain, mostly because he didn't have a sharp reply to toss back at me.

He spun around, staring in growing horror at the walls. "I've got a very bad feeling about this."

"Oh, you think? Great observation, there, Captain Obvious. Anymore nuggets of wisdom you want to impart?"

He slanted me an unfriendly look, but there was a slight twist to his lips that was almost a smile. Great, the man knew good sarcasm when he heard it, even when in a bad situation. Maybe because of it. It made me like him, and right now I didn't want to like anyone. Right now I wanted to be out of the trash and into a position where I could scream at Thrass, Thrawn, Hater, and pretty much everyone around me.

Instead, I got to scream at the walls. Because, you know, I'm pretty sure that's standard protocol when they start closing in on you.

* * *

Long story short (yeah, I know, way too late at this point), we got out of there on a wing, a prayer and a long distance shout-out to an anxiety-suffering, mother-hen of a golden protocol droid. Honestly, I sometimes wondred how he survived each day without blowing a circuit or something.

Just like in the movies, Threepio and Artoo proved that they were more than just the comic relief. Which didn't bode well for me, I thought glumly. It meant that I was beneath the droids in the Usefulness Scale. It meant that I was the weakest link of the group, that I was the one that got to die spectacularly so the good-guys could have a reason to rally in their darkest hour.

Like what they did to poor Agent Coulson in the recent Avengers movie. Except nobody here liked me that much, and nobody knew that killing me would probably be the best thing they could do at the moment. Being Hater's lackey sucked, and not just for the weak pay and lack of 401K and health insurance.

I contemplated all this as I tried to set my skirt to rights, waiting for Leia to finish with the little UV sanitation light that Luke had found in one of the stormtrooper belt boxes. That explained how Leia and everyone still looked freshly pressed AFTER being nearly crushed to death in a garbage disposal! I often wondered about that, too. About how the stormtroopers could lose them at all, what with the reek of that place still clinging to their clothes. It wasn't like there was a friendly 24-hour drycleaner and a Starbucks nearby for them to drop off their clothes and calmly have a latte while they waited.

Ooohhhh what I wouldn't give for a latte right now… My stomach growled so loudly that even Chewie lifted is eyebrows at me. "What?" I snapped back, snatching the offered light from Leia and glaring at all of them. "It's been over twenty-four hours since I've eaten. I'm lucky to be upright and coherent right now."

"Agreed," Leia said, echoing my worse-for-wear tone. "I think I'm going to eat a small gundark and sleep for a month when we get out of here."

Luke gave another of his innocent-not-so-innocent farmboy smiles… at me. "It'll be my treat," he said, letting his eyes touch on Leia to include her, but returning to me just the same.

Wait a second… he wasn't flirting with _me_, was he?

"If we just avoid any more female advice, we ought to be able to get out of here," Han mumbled sarcastically, fastening the last of his utility boxes to his belt.

Farmboy or not, Luke knew trouble when he heard it, and the way Leia was staring at Captain A-hole right now was definitely the opposite of happy. "Well, let's get moving," he interjected somewhat loudly, stepping in between Han and Leia… which put him right next to me. His hand touching the small of my back gently. "Princess Aurora, stay close to me. Han, it might be best if we each guard—"

"I see what you're doing, kid," A-hole snarled. "And I don't like it. You take Her Holy Worship, and I'll take Her Unholy Worship. It's the only way we won't end up blasting each other and saving the Imp-dicks the trouble."

I arched an eyebrow, crossing my arms over my chest. "Stealing my lines now?"

His eyes were still hard, still angry, but he was smart enough to put that aside. And clever enough to appreciate good humor. "It's a nicer way to put it than I would have," he replied, literally elbowing himself between Luke and me. He put a hand on my shoulder, giving me a gentle push forward. "Let's move."

Luke definitely wasn't happy about the new pairings, and I sent him a sympathetic look over my shoulder. Which was probably a bad thing to have done, because his face went from disappointed to lit up like a Christmas tree. I groaned. It wasn't bad enough that I had a …complicated thing with Praji… and not-my-memories of nights with Thrawn that had never happened… but now I was picking up Luke's crush that should have been on Leia? Something had to give. I wasn't all that and a bag of chips. I wasn't Mary Sue.

And we weren't going anywhere, yet, apparently.

Leia grabbed my arm instead of Han's, pulling me to her side. "Listen, I don't know who you are, or where you came from," she started in on Han. "But from now on, you do as I tell you. Okay?"

"Look, Your Holy Worshipful-ness, let's get one thing straight. I take orders from just one person: Me."

Leia's lips curved into that sarcastically sweet smile. "Then it's a wonder you're still alive," she pushed me ahead of her, and I dodged quickly before I became part of Chewie's back. She seemed to notice that and sighed again. "Will someone get this big walking carpet out of our way?"

We strode ahead like the rejected cast of the Wizard of Oz, following the grey-steel road instead of yellow bricks. Marching through the evil Wizard's castle and hoping his white-armored flying monkeys wouldn't catch us before we took the Falcon-shaped hot air balloon to safety. And me without my red shoes. Stupid Praji and his disintegrate everything plan!

Han stomped on behind us like a disgruntled scarecrow. "No reward is worth this!"

I'll let you fill in the rest of the cast. But if you make me Toto, I'll… probably say you were right.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Thanks again for all the feedback, reviews, and private messages! I'm really glad that I can make people laugh with this story. It's a nice change to write comedy in light of my more serious fics. This chapter is dedicated to everyone that has read the novel "Death Star." It's absolutely worth the read. Most of the canon dialogue, the character Nova Stihl, and most of the information pertaining to him came from that novel. Hope you enjoy! :D

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun!

* * *

Han was still muttering to himself as we not-so-merrily skipped along down the scary-brick-road. If anything, we moved more at a cautious creep than a skip. I could almost hear the sleazy 1940s music playing in the background as we stuffed our hands in our pockets, took exaggerated long slow strides, and whistled that tone that universally indicated innocence, yet in actuality meant anything _but_. Just a group of people that were supposed to be here, our stances said. Nothing to see, folks. Move along!

Okay, we didn't really do that, but it was close enough. We were like a pack of shadows without a caster, drifting through the sterile corridors of this labyrinth-wannabe Space Station. Seriously, this place had more curves than a Victoria Secrets fashion show! So much so that I gravely contemplated revising my analogy of our adventure from Wizard of Oz to Labyrinth. Except I had the sneaky suspicion that the Goblin King and Lord Hater would hit it off spectacularly, and then we'd have two devious conniving magic-welding freakshows to deal with. Just with better music.

_Dance, magic, dance. Dance, magic, dance. Put that Force-using spell on me. Slap those rebels; don't let them flee! _

Yeah, imagine that. But with Vader pulling a counterpoint duet with the _snap-hiss_ of a lightsaber and the squealing of us as his Force-hands crushed our hearts into jelly. Somehow I got the feeling that David Bowie's awesome voice wouldn't be as breathtakingly received this time around if that was the case. Hard to applaud when your heart is imploding.

"Something funny?" Han asked softly as we rounded another turn that looked just like the last forty-million turns we'd taken.

Okay, maybe not that many but honestly, every corridor looked exactly the same as the last one! I'd originally thought that was because George Lucas had run out of money for set construction and just reused the same set for the entire Death Star sequence. Apparently that wasn't the case. It was more likely that the accountants back on Imperial Center had skimped on the originality of the design in order to free up funding for their ludicrous planet-blower-upper. Probably just picked a random shell out of _Death Star Designs Today_ and said yeah, that'll do.

I goggled at the hallway we entered. Yup, exactly the same as the one we had left. I could have been staring into a mirror and looking at the stuff behind me if not for my own reflection being missing. That was how identical this hallway was to the last. It was a miracle anyone made it to shift on time. Was there some sort of map in the orientation packet or something? Maybe invisible signs that we just couldn't see? How could anyone tell where they were going in this place?! I sure could have used Sarah's tube of lipstick right about now. Just to mark the walls so I knew for a fact that we weren't marching in circles.

It sure beat the hell out of my other plan. That being to hunt down the latest "new guy" and mug him for his packet!

"Uh, yeah. This whole situation, frankly," I retorted, not realizing that I had snerked at that made up song lyric in my head. "And not in the ha-ha kind of way."

He looked me up and down, squinting his eyes as he scrutinized me. "You don't talk like a Princess."

I gave him my best Arrogant Princess Empowered stare. And then punched him in the shoulder when he dared to chuckle. Figures Hater would give me the title but no kick ass princess skills to back it up. "Blow it out your ass, nerf-herder."

He recoiled, that laugh turning into a look of irritation, rubbing at his arm. "You don't hit like a Princess, either."

"Ha! Like you have any experience with royalty to judge by."

There was a cough behind us that sounded suspiciously like a hidden laugh. We both whirled around. Luke and Leia stood side by side, identical looks of poised innocence on their smooth faces. Not a hint that either had laughed, and I was embarrassed to admit that I had no idea which one of them had tried. They looked so young like that, and standing side by side, you really could see the family resemblance. They were related, alright. You'd have to be an idiot not to see it.

Or, you know, someone that believed that Leia grew up on Alderaan and Luke grew up on Tantooine. There truly was no way to prove either was related to the other. Yoda and Obi had done a superb job in hiding them. That was until idiot me had gone and blown the whole kit-and-caboodle out of the water in a fit of ill-conceived failed vengeance. Part of me wondered if Vader had really seen the entire poison-layered angry show I'd displayed in my head, or if he had just bothered to watch the parts pertaining to Leia.

That wasn't a comforting though, and I suppressed a shiver. What if Vader did know everything pertaining to the original trilogy? What if he knew everything about the Extended Universe, too? What if he just hadn't bothered to tell me that? I'd only been concerned for Leia's safety at that point in our conversation. Then again, I hadn't asked and he probably wouldn't have answered anyway. At the time he was cheerfully turning my head into his personal speak-and-say.

The cow goes MOOO! The rebel traitor goes AHHHHH!

Luke's innocent look faded, his blue eyes focusing on me. On the way my arms were wrapped around myself, like I was shivering from a cold that had nothing to do with the ambient temperature in the hallway. "Princess Aurora, are you alright?" he asked, reaching a hand out to me as if he could offer me succor from my own nightmares.

I shook my head, wanting to recoil from that hand. Not wanting the future savior of the galaxy to be tainted by the stupidity of my actions. He was supposed to go on to great things, wonderful things. What if by touching me that changed? What if I had altered his destiny by not letting him take a swim in mutant-tentacle-infested waters? What if the fact that he was obviously crushing on me due to that stupid kiss I gave him in the detention hallway changed his desire to join the rebellion?

That thought hit me like a punch in the gut. He'd joined the rebels because he'd had a crush on Leia. ON LEIA! Not me. _Her_. All to prove that he was worthy of her. And unless I could find a way to get those two together (and not lose my shit over the fact that I was going to have encourage bro-on-sis happy fun time. Barf!) I might have to join the freaking rebellion just to get Luke to do it. So not in my plans!

"I'm fine," I gritted out. _And_ s_top calling me that! My name is Mary! MARY! M-A-R-Y! _"Just scaring the hell out of myself due to my own stupid actions. Forget it, we should keep moving."

It was Leia's turn to try the let-me-helps. "Rori, I'm sorry that we fought," she said, stepping over to me and prying one of my hands free from the death grip hug I had on my ribs. "And when this is over, we'll talk out our issues. Please, for the sake of our history, hold together a bit longer. Just a little longer. There are good doctors that I trust among the rebellion. Doctors that will help us both come to terms with what Lord Vader did to us."

I flinched at her use of the title "Lord" in reference to Hater. She'd never do that before the mind-screwing. It was always Vader in her eyes, unless she was addressing him directly. Just another sign of how badly I'd screwed things up.

"Her Holy Worship is right," Han said, and for once there wasn't a trace of anger in that tone. More like begrudging … sympathy? Empathizing with what he thought the two of us had been through. Then again, he was a formal Imp-dick. He could very well have witnessed an interrogation or two in his time. "We don't have time for this. Just hold together. Follow my lead. I'll get us out of this somehow."

Leia looked away from my eyes, staring up into his. And I saw the first glimmer of good news since I'd screwed things up. There was a hint of admiration and appreciation sparking in those velvety brown eyes. And no one could mistake that tug on his lip, that almost cocky smile that was doing its best to not be seen. A foreshadowing of a love that would help heal the galaxy. No amount of reactionary flirting with me could measure the feeling in that one moment.

Oh thank the stars! For once one of my selfish, pity-party, drama-llama moments weren't all about me and had a positive result. The Han/Leia part of the storyline was back in place. I nearly wilted with relief… until I felt the light touch of a hand on my shoulder. And I glanced up into Luke's innocent but no less pretty blue eyes. Really, what was it with me and blue-eyed men? At least it was better than glowing-eyed—

—Another memory, but this time it was Thrass instead of Thrawn. The two of us seated at a table, the wine in our cups gone. The wine in the bottle gone. He was laughing, the sound surprisingly melodious, the expression on his face making him seem more real, more approachable than the bored aristocrat mask that he always displayed. I was smiling, too, enjoying the fact that I could bring him this moment of reprieve. That I could provide him a distraction from the rancor-pit that was the Imperial Court, if only for a little while.

And then that laugh slowly faded, and those glowing eyes took on an intensity that scared the breath from me as much as it excited me. The remains of our meal were forgotten as he stood, took my hand, and lead me towards the bedroom—

I staggered into Luke's arms, my hands clutching my head. I had no idea whose memory that was, but it wasn't mine at all. Not in the slightest! "No no no no no no no no…," I whispered fiercely. "It didn't happen like that. I never did that. No no no no!"

"Aurora!" Luke cried, arms around my waist, holding me upright before I hit the deck. "Princess Leia, help me. What's happening to her?"

"Lord Vader," Leia put in grimly, running a soothing hand over my hair. Not realizing that that action traumatized me even more. Hater had done that to me, ran his vile hands over my hair in mock comfort as he ripped my mind apart. "He interrogated us both, and I suspect hers was more unpleasant because of how she turned away from the Empire."

"Not to be the bearer of bad news, people," Han interjected. "But is she going to be able to keep up? This isn't a pleasure cruise and if she falls apart in the middle of a firefight, we might not be able to save her."

"No, I'm fine, dammit," I snarled, pushing away from both Luke and Leia, not realizing that I had started to sob into Luke's chest. I was so, so sick of this already! Sick of the fake memories with men that scared the bejeezus out of me! I scrubbed at my face, not caring if it rubbed mascara all over my cheeks and I looked like Avril Lavigne after a concert in the rain. "It's just a memory that's… It's just an unwanted memory," I finished at last, furious with myself that I couldn't say that it was _just a memory implanted in my head._

Ah, Vader, and his wonderful roadblocks in my brain. I was so going to stab him in the heart with a needle full of the Robitussin-whatever drug he'd had me interrogated with, and then see how he liked his brain waves rearranged!

"I'll hold together, ace," I said to Han, briskly straightening my skirts and my circlet. Putting on a brave front. "You just hold to your side of the bargain and get us the freak out of here."

"Right," he replied, and the look in his eyes saying he believed my false bravado about as much as I did. "Okay, then let's move."

"Princess," Luke tried again, softer this time as Han strode forward. "If you need anything, please, don't hesitate to ask."

I fought like hell not to start ripping my hair out by the roots as I followed Han. So far the Han/Leia thing was fixed (near as I could tell at least). Now I had to concentrate on the Luke/Leia bit. Because my little moment of weakness there hadn't done jack for fixing that dilemma. If anything, it had made it worse. He walked behind me like a man on a mission, and that mission was seeing me safely out of here. Well, Leia was in that mission statement, too, of course. Because Luke was just that kind of nice guy, don't get me wrong. But still…

I sighed. One bloody problem at a time.

* * *

Speaking of one problem at a time… Ever had one of those moments when you rethink every little stupid, idiotic, moronic, retarded, useless, unwise, senseless, imprudent, thoughtless, rash, irresponsible, heedless decision you had ever made in your entire life? I was having one of those moments, courtesy of the most reckless, insane man to ever cross the silver screen. And I didn't like it.

Said reckless man was currently running full-tilt after an entire _SQUAD_ of stormtroopers, brandishing his single blaster as if it were Excalibur and he was about to go all King Arthur on their armored asses. I ran behind him, screaming my head off, too. Though I wasn't ashamed to admit that my scream was pure undiluted terror. Funny how it sounded just like the blustering scream that Han was spouting. Maybe terror and bravery were one in the same after all. Something else to consider if I ever made it out of here.

Man, I was going to have one helluva paper on psychology to write if I tallied up all the intellectual conclusions about myself that I'd achieved on this psychotic episode of _Whose Line is It, Anyway._ I might have to go back to school for a second degree. Become a shrink or something. But again, that was predicated on my making it out of here alive.

Which in turn wasn't helped along by following a screaming madman after a group of professionally trained killers!

Did I mention the fact that I didn't have a blaster of my own, that the only one of us armed was Han? Maybe that made me the insane one, come to think of it.

By this time Luke and Leia were long gone, heading in the direction we should have been running when our band of mighty crusaders ran into the first squad of the Sith Goblin King's minions. (Yes, I was sticking with the Labyrinth references now. Deal.) Han had told everyone to run towards the ship, that he would handle this group on his own. But I knew what was awaiting Luke and Leia, and I doubted that his Tarzan impersonation was going to be strong enough to carry three of us.

That left me two options: Go with Luke and Leia and pray that somehow we got across the bridge before we were captured, or run like an unarmed extra in an Arnold Schwarzenegger movie towards an entire squad of well-armed commandos. Given that my prayers hadn't actually been answered of late, and that Han and Chewie somehow found an alternate route to the Falcon anyway, believe it or not the safer bet was with Captain Obvious and the Walking Carpet.

Heh. That last bit sounded like a bad 70's tribute band.

We rounded yet another –surprise!—identical freaking corner before the stormtroopers finally put their brain cells to work and realized only two sets of footsteps were following them, and that only two voices were making that last-act-of-defiance scream. That math equaled two of us versus about eight of them. And that solution triggered awareness in their heads at the same time it did for Han.

He skidded to a halt and started to fire. One trooper went down, a smoking hole in his yet again useless white armor. And that's when I realized where I'd seen this before. I mean besides the movies, dumbass.

I had devoured the novel "Death Star" when it had come out, simply because it described the lives of people on the Death Star other than the main characters. It gave a whole new perspective on why people both loved and hated the Empire. Why people willingly flocked to Palpatine's banner, proudly wore their uniforms, and the horror they had experienced when they realized they had been played.

One character in particular had stood out to me. His name was Nova Stihl, _Sergeant _Nova Stihl of the Imperial Marines. And he was one of the faceless white-helmeted men arrayed before us. I remembered this scene in particular because it had made little sense in the book. Stihl was a force-sensitive that had dreamed his own death time and again. And one of those dreams had been in this very situation. He'd dreamed that Han had gunned him down right after the solider that just went down like a wet blanket (which incidentally let me know which jerkface was Stihl).

But if Stihl died here, which he hadn't in the book, then Dr. Uli would never have escaped the Death Star and went on to being one of the main doctors that saved countless rebel lives. And Memah Roothes would have died, and so would have that architect chippie and her TIE-pilot boytoy. All vital to the rebellion in later years, or so the book hinted at.

What was confusing about this moment in the book was that there was no true clarification as to why Han had missed. And watching the smuggler draw down, take aim… I knew there was no other way. I mean, how did _I_ know that I _wasn't _supposed to interfere this time? There had to be some explanation as to why Han missed. Why not me? And besides, I couldn't let Nova or Dr. Uli die. I just couldn't. Even with my resolve not to change another damn thing in the Lucas-verse, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

And pretended to swoon in a very princess-like way. Even draping my hand across my forehead like an emo-angsty kid and affecting a very dramatic sigh. I crashed into Han's back, forcing his killing shot to go wide of its target. Earning me a rather painful scorch of a near-miss blaster bolt across my shoulder for my trouble. No good deed goes unpunished, right?

"Aurora!" Han yelled as I gasped, clutching a hand to my shoulder.

He yanked me to my feet and started to run. But those stupid layers of princess skirts got tangled up in my legs, got lodged under my feet. Han's grasp on my fingers slipped, and I went down hard. Just like, well, a damsel in distress in one of my fave film noir movies. "No, I'm fine!" I screamed when he tried to stop. "Go! You have to save Leia. She's the key, not me! Go, please, I order you!"

The look in his eyes was so pained, the set of his lips making me want to try and get up. But I knew he'd be captured if I took the time to untangle the skirts. So I made my eyes fill with ice, with all the royal dignity that I apparently lacked in droves. But this time, it worked. It had failed to work on Thrawn, on Thrass and on Lorana. But it worked on Han. Maybe because he knew I was right. That there was no time to save me if he wanted to keep himself and Chewie out of lockup.

He didn't bother to nod, or to hide the disgusted look on his face. Disgusted with himself, with being unable to protect me when he'd promised to. "I'm sorry," I whispered, trying to curl up on myself as those jackboots ran up around me, as I smelled the hot metal from their discharged weapons, as they formed a ring around me and pointed those weapons at my head. "I'm so sorry."

"After him!" Nova ordered through the comm. filter on his mask. "Go!"

There was a chorus of yes sirs and the ring dispersed, surprisingly. Leaving me alone with Sergeant Stihl. His hands were rough only because they were gauntleted, hauling me to a sitting position and kneeling down to clamp very familiar binders around my wrists. One hand gripped my uninjured shoulder firmly and professionally, pressing my back into the corridor wall to hold me still while he looked at my other shoulder.

"Glancing shot," he said after a moment. "You're lucky. My men shoot to kill. A medic will treat that shortly once you are in custody."

I couldn't suppress the shudder that ran through me, the terror that brimmed in my throat at the thought of being shoved back into another box. But I'd made my bed, as they saying went. Time to lay in it. "I know," I said aloud as he pulled me to my feet. "About the 'blink.'"

That startled him, his head whipping in my direction. Even behind the mask, I could tell he was startled. "Excuse me?"

"You're Sergeant Nova Stihl, and you have reservations about serving the Empire. And you have what you call the 'blink.' You can know things seconds before they happen. That's why you are so good at what you do. Why you survived when all others died. And why you felt Alderaan's destruction. You woke up in the shower, terrified by that feeling. And you have nightmares about your own death, nightmares that wake you screaming from sleep. In fact, you knew you should have died right here in this hallway."

I had his attention, his full attention. His hand trembled slightly where it held my arm, gripping too tight. "How?" was all he asked.

And here came the big lie. If I couldn't sell this, I might as well have shot myself in the face and saved him the trouble. I took a deep breath again, closing my eyes, staring down and pretending to cry.

"Because I have it, too," I whispered. "And I've seen you in my dreams. Saw this whole thing happen. You know that something bad is about to come to this station, you and your friends. You're planning to leave. You're a good man, Nova Stihl, and you want to do good things. So please, please listen to me."

I looked up again, this time no need to pretend. This time the earnest pleading in my eyes was real and true. "Focus on those dreams. You don't have to die here, Nova. You have a gift and if you focus on it, you can see exactly where you would die. You can set things up in advance so you don't have to give your life for no stupid reason. They need you, your friends. They need you and Rodo, or they aren't going to make it when they get off this thing. So please, please listen to your dreams and use them."

He dropped my arm, yanking off his helmet and breathing hard as if he couldn't get enough oxygen with that thing on. Staring at me with wide eyes. "The medical center hallway," he whispered just as softly as I had. "The white light and the cold darkness. The explosions."

"It doesn't have to end that way. You know where the attack will happen. Now do something about it. Change your own future, don't live as a slave to it. You're too good for that."

He shook his head, confusion in those too wide eyes. "Who are you? Why are you telling me this?"

"I'm M…" I licked my lips, shoulders slumping in defeat. Owning the lie Vader had instilled in me. "I'm Princess freaking Aurora, Nova. Former concubine to some pretty powerful men on this station. So I know what I'm talking about. This place is going to blow. Go talk to the architect that your TIE-buddy is getting it on with, and she'll tell you the same thing. No one will listen to her, but you might. That's all the proof I can offer. So… let's get on with the prisoner-thing, okay?" I gestured at his helmet with my cuffed hands. "I'm tired of fighting and I'm so tired of this place. So either execute me or drag me along. I'm game either way."

He drug me along. And when we caught up to his men at the blast door, the one that had closed behind Han mere minutes before we arrived, he handed me off to one of his buddies, kneeling down to fiddle with the control panel. I held my breath, hoping against hope that he had taken my advice to heart. That he followed the storyline in the book and realized through the Force that Han needed to escape.

That Han _had_ to escape if the future was to be set right.

"Sarge, you going to open the door?" Said the jerkface in charge of me.

"I'm trying. The switch is jammed," Nova fiddled some more with something I couldn't see. "Still not working. Blast Control, this is Sargent Stihl, operating number 439570437. I need an override on blast doors, level five, corridor six. Open them."

Some seconds passed and he started to argue with the dork on the other end of the call. "And I'm telling you they _aren't_," Nova insisted harshly. "You gonna open it or let the terrorists we're chasing escape?"

The doors opened, and we were ushered through, my custody reverting back to Nova at his insistence. I held my breath, waiting. The hallway opened up to the left and right. If Nova was truly the man I thought he was via the novel, he was going to make the right call. And by right, I meant he was going to go left. Because Han had gone to the right. Also, because it was the _right_ right thing to do. And by that I meant the proper good thing right, not the direction thing right. Right?

I'll shut up. I was confusing the hell out of myself, too, so don't feel bad.

"Which way, Sarge?"

"To the left!"

The breath left me in a whoosh. He'd let Han go. Thank fuck something had gone right. And not just the cardinal direction right!

Nova lagged behind, however, jerking me long in random ways that made it look like I was trying to struggle. Like he was having trouble keeping me in line. In reality, it was more like I was a rag doll in the hands of a tantrum-having child.

"GO!" he ordered his men. "I'll catch up."

They ran ahead as he pulled me into an alcove. My binders were removed. I goggled at him. "What are you doing?"

"Returning the favor, Princess," he replied through his mask. "You saved my life back there with your fake fainting spell. I'm doing the same. Your allies went to the right, and I'm assuming they are headed for the hangar bay. Follow the curves to the right, but stay out of sight. You should catch them if you move quickly."

His armored hands took mine, and I found them filled with his E-11 blaster, the muzzle for once pointed away from me. I stared at him, realization dawning in my eyes. "I'm not going to shoot you!"

"It's set to stun," He said, positioning my finger on the trigger. "And it's the only way I can justify how you escaped. And, for the record, you aren't stunning me—I am."

No sooner had that word left his mouth than his finger pressed on mine over the trigger. There was a blue flash of light and a clatter of white-armor as he fell to the deck. I stared at his prone form in muffled horror, terrified not that I had killed him, but that he hadn't bothered to ask why I had been a prisoner in the first place, or whose prisoner I was. I was Vader's pawn, and Nova had had direct contact with me. Vader knew damn well I couldn't hit the broad side of the Death Star if I was standing on top of it with a magnet! Would Vader spare him, or would he kill the man for lying to him?

Because there was no way I could have ever done this to a man like Nova Stihl.

He started to moan, to stir a bit on the deck. I dropped to one knee, whispering at what I thought was the ear speaker on that helmet. "If you are interrogated, tell Lord Hater that I said if you are hurt, I'm going to not _only_ disobey him, but I'll find a way to make him pay. There's a lot left in my head that he doesn't know yet, and I can and will use this to make his life an absolute hell. That's a promise, sugar. I'm trouble personified. And if you're not interrogated, then remember what I said about changing your future!"

He made no reply, and I was out of time if I wanted to catch up to Han. I picked up his blaster, tucked my skirts over one arm until my knees were visible, and ran.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: Thanks again for all the new people following and favoriting this story. I do my best to post regularly. And also thank you for the wonderful reviews, suggestions, and private messages. They keep me inspiried to keep going. Yes, DarknessFalls88888, I am going to take your suggestion. There will be a one-shot story snippet involving Mary and Rukh over the fate of a certain Gand Admiral forthcoming. I'll slap it under a title like "Deleted Scenes" Or "Cutting Room Floor." Look for it soon! :D

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Dr. Uli and Nova are all from the novel Death Star. Lorana and Thrass are from the novel Outbound Flight. And everyone else is from... well, you all know where they are from! Please do not sue. This is purely for fun.

* * *

Okay, I had to take it back. The designers of this rotting piñata they called the Death Star knew what they were doing. At least as far as it came to making someone who wasn't supposed to be roaming the halls like a tourist feel real small and insignificant. Every hallway I passed seemed to grow larger and darker, its end disappearing into shadows blacker than my dress. All the corridors still looked the same, mind you, and trying to find my way through them was a severe test of my sanity. Especially trying to dance my way through the labyrinth alone. I missed my Bluto (Chewie), Hoggle (Han), and Sir Didymus (Luke). Would've said Leia, too, but there wasn't another female character in Labyrinth. What can I say, you play the hand you were dealt.

Right at that moment, however, I would have taken any sort of company. I was back to being all scared and crap. The Death Star definitely wasn't the place you wanted to rove around without your travel gnome. I was so going to leave that sort of feedback on Travelocity's website when I got home!

And all these random thoughts weren't helping me follow Nova's directions. Apparently all my anger-driven bravado that had led me to leave a threatening message for my would-be master evaporated when I had to run through this slaughterhouse alone.

So not good.

I was flashing more leg than the entire cast of the Rockettes during a New Year's Eve celebration as I hauled ass through the maze, pausing here and there to duck into an alcove when a pack of blaster-toting goblins passed. But that couldn't be helped, not if I wanted to make it off this station before it performed its final impersonation of a fireworks display. I loved fireworks just as much as the next underpaid, overworked American, but that was when I was watching them from afar with a famous New York frankfurter in one hand and a warm beer in the other. Being up close and personal with fire and explody-bits? So not in my job description.

And speaking of jobs, I wondered as I huddled in the shadows, waiting for this last squad of jerkfaces to pass, if I still had mine back home. Had Lewis fired me for shift abandonment? I mean, considering I've been gone for the past… uh… let's call it seven days now (really, it's not like they put a calendar into those black boxes they called containment cells. And given how many times I'd been drugged to sleep, fell asleep, passed out and then slept, or been mind-wonkied to sleep, I really had no idea how many days had passed), it would have come as no surprise to me to learn that that vapid server named Tres was now wearing my apron and working my shift.

Seriously, that woman rivaled Admiral Fucktard for the Creepy Nasty Douche of the Decade Award, edging him out in the Most Sexually Transmitted Diseases of the Year only by the fact that she worked in a bar and he worked on a starship comprised mostly of men. Not easy pickings for him, that.

Note to self: If Tres was wearing my apron, burn _that_ in the same pile with the Star Wars crap. Hrm, I should probably buy one of those space-suit looking CDC getups before touching the apron, too. You know, just in case. I would be severely pissed if I survived all this Death Star business only to return home and die from some disease courtesy of Tres I-Sleep-With-Anything-That-Pays Montgomery.

I let out a small prayer to whoever was listening that Vader had turned me into a high class courtesan rather than a tramp like Tres—

—and then staggered gracelessly into the wall as yet another freaking memory tried to rise out of the shattered glass that was my headspace.

"Oh, hell no," I muttered, clamping mental chains across that Pandora's box, especially when I realized it was another installment of _As the Death Star Turns_, guest staring me and Thrawn. I tried to think of anything but his mouth, or his eyes, or the way I'd called out when…

Except this particular not-memory wasn't of a sexual nature surprisingly enough. Well, not completely. My hair _was_ all messed up from our last little 'trip around the galaxy' if you get my drift. I was wearing his shirt, and he stood with his back to me, hands clasped behind him, staring out over the most beautiful sunset I had ever seen. More shades of scarlet and crimson than I knew how to name played across that sky, punctuated here and there with the black silhouettes of buildings that made the famous New York Skyline look like some underachieving kid's poor attempt at legos. And his blue skin stood out in stark relief against it, a contrast that was as jarring as it was perfect.

It was breathtaking. It was worth making me cry. But it wasn't the reason I was crying.

He'd told me that it was over between us. That he had been ordered away from Coruscant, that he had no idea when he would be back. Some mapping expedition to the Unknown Regions or some other rot was the only excuse he'd give. It was too dangerous to take me with him this time. Pretty much implying that he had taken me with him on every other mission, hiding me away like some precious piece of art for his viewing pleasure alone.

I'd screamed at him, threw things. Had a full on princess fit the likes of which would have made Martha Stewart proud. Seriously, that woman could be downright evil when she wanted to be. Bet she could make Palpatine sit up and take notice!

Nothing would change his mind. The damning words were handed down to me like he was passing sentence on a condemned prisioner. He had made arrangements for my safety in the arms of another man. Passing me along like… like the courtesan I was. Praji, the other man's name was. Nadonnis Praji, of the very prominent Praji family. He had been an admirer of mine for some time, nearly willing to start a political firefight to remove me from the AdmiraI's side. I would be treated better than I ever had been in my life.

It wasn't good enough, I'd countered. He'd said it was the best he could do on such short notice. Said it with all that bloody frustrating calm and deliberate precise coolness that was the hallmark of his and his brother's speech patterns. He could have been talking about the sunset, or the latest art gallery we had attended together. He could have been discussing anything… except how he was ripping my heart out of my chest and grinding it beneath his boots with every last syllable.

Suddenly, the sunset was no longer the color of beauty. Instead, it was the color of rage, of blood, and of the death of my future at his side.

My hand reached out, caught the priceless Ithorian vase on the nearby table, made to throw it at him. He moved like lightning. Caught my wrist in a grip like iron. Sorrow danced in those glowing eyes, but also a calculated strength, a plan within a plan within a plan as was his way. Idly, I'd wondered if he was capable of feeling anything, if he was able to focusing solely on the moment rather than five steps ahead of it.

I must have said that last thought out loud, because he plucked the vase from my hands, a spark of intense unbridled emotion blazing to life in his eyes. My wrist was twisted behind my back, and his lips—

I literally stuck my fingers in my ears, closed my eyes, and sang "La la la la la la la LA!" at the top of my lungs. Not the best thing I could do given that I was trying to be all sneaky and junk. But falling to the ground in a partial convulsion due to forced remembered pleasure of a Grand Admiral's attentions was just as counterproductive. Particularly given the vigorous passion play of our last night together—

I immediately thought of cold showers, and arctic oceans, and the wickedly cold wind that blew through the alleys of Manhattan so sharp that it could literally cut your ears if they weren't covered. And, uh, my great grandparents kissing! Yeah! And, ummmm, the fact that Luke and Leia were going to have to kiss even if I had to physically shove his lips against hers! Anything to get Luke's attention off of me and back where it belonged! Not that it _belonged_ belonged there. I mean, they were twins for crying out loud. But for the sake of the Lucas-verse, it was going to have to happen.

My stomach heaved violently at the notion, and I was suddenly glad that there was nothing in it to expel. Surprisingly that seemed to work in combating Hater's fake memories and the lust I produced in my body. And the sorrow, I admitted bitterly. I felt sorrow at that memory. Felt like my heart had been broken, when I bloody well knew it hadn't!

Great, I was now developing emotions to go with the memories that weren't mine! How long until that emotion began to override the reality? How long until I looked at Thrawn and Thrass like old lovers instead of the unholy Bobbsey Twins that they were? What was next, extrapolating on those memories and adding my own bits to them? Owning them like I was slowly owning my new name?

No, I shook my head violently, almost throwing myself into the wall again. There wasn't time to ponder that. I had other things to consider. Like the fact that there were triggers to this mental hackjob that Hater had done to me. I was slowly figuring out (no dumb jokes, please, this was serious!) that if I thought of Leia, I got images of a fake childhood. If I thought of anything of sexual nature, even indirectly, I got a face full of the Chiss Porn Channel.

Oh, payback was going to be an absolute bitch when I got my hands on Hater… I just had to live long enough to make that happen. Which meant I needed to get my ass in gear and get off this Roman Candle before it went up around me.

The corridors were mostly empty as I scurried along, and I sent a mental thank you to Nova for that. If he'd broadcast across his helmet-mic-thing that the terrorists had run to the left, then almost everyone in the station would be heading to the left. Our pathways were clear towards the right, towards the hangar. No wonder Han and Chewie had been able to make it there unnoticed. We all owed Nova more than a little for this. We owed him our lives.

It made me feel better about my decision to save his.

And ahead of me, shining like a preview of the new season's Converse shoe collection, I saw Han and Chewie. They were plastered against the wall, hidden by the slight curve of it, and peering around the edge. Staring out at the Falcon. And, man, I had never been more thankful to see that ship in my life. Not that I had seen it before, but the fangirl in me was hiding beneath the fake memories and the fear and pressing fact that I needed to get out of this situation pronto. Once we were heading towards Yavin, I could squee to my heart's content over the fact that I was standing on the Millennium Falcon!

Right now the pitter-patter of my obsessive fangirl heart had to wait.

I crept up on them as carefully as I could without trying to creep up on them. The last thing I needed was to have my brains plastered all over the walls because I'd surprised the Wookie and he'd bow-casted me between the eyes. That would have been a rather anticlimactic ending to this little adventure. So I crept without trying to creep, making noise without trying to make noise.

It was a lot harder than I thought.

"Pssst!" I whisper/hissed. "Pssst! Chewie! It's—"

He jumped so high I swore to all that was holy that his head smacked the ceiling. Let me tell you, in any other situation, I would totally encourage you to surprise a Wookie. Every hair stood out on his body—every single one!—as if someone had put his claw in a light socket. As if I had rubbed my feet across shag carpet in the winter and dared send my electric charge through his body. Just _POOF_! Instant seven foot hairball, just add fright.

I would have fallen on the floor, laughing so hard that I couldn't breathe (I mean, holy crap, I snuck up on a _Wookie_! What were the chances of that happening ever?) save for the fact that both he and Han nearly took my head off with blaster shots. Not that they fired completely, but the tell-tale red glow surrounded the barrel of blaster and bow caster alike. And I knew for a fact that neither of them would have missed.

Instead of laughing, I gulped.

Han sent me a look that made dry ice seem warm and inviting. Chewie, bless his giant soft heart, lowered his weapon with a silent dramatic sigh and waved me over to them.

"Thanks for not killing me," I whispered at him.

He tilted his head to the side, rumbling something I hoped was a 'your welcome' and not a 'only because I didn't want to get your blood all over my fur.' At least he positioned me between him and Han, motioning for me to stay out of sight. Made me think he really had said the good thing and not the bad.

"How?" he asked, as if startled that I could have gotten away.

I pushed out one hip, placed my hand on it in a saucy way, and hefted Nova's blaster in one hand. Waving it at his face tauntingly. "A lady has her skill—"

Yes, I'll be woman enough to admit it. Waving around a heavy E-11 with one hand wasn't the best idea ever. Especially since it was made for use with two hands. And especially when I smacked myself in the side of the head with it. It was only a glancing blow, but it was enough to ring my bell.

Yup, me and Rapunzel from Tangled. Learning that it never paid to show off by swinging your weapon around, even at your most confident.

Han rolled his eyes and shook his head as I rubbed the side of my face. I glared, losing my confident swagger and regaining my tried and true sarcasm. "Hey, I'm here, aren't I?" I said instead. "They underestimated me and left me with just one guard when they ran after you. I may not be a trained killer like you, Quick Draw McGraw, but I'm not completely useless."

He looked at the growing bruise on the side of my face, and then flinched back at the look in my eyes. "If you hit me again, I swear I'll shoot you here and now."

"What a gentleman," I snarled.

"Act like a Princess, and I'll act like a gentleman. Until then, shut up and follow my lead," he looked back across the hangar. "Didn't we just leave this party?"

I snorted. "Please. Didn't you get the memo? This isn't the Death Star. It's the Fun Star. Yeah, the entire exterior is fitted with rotating plates so this place can become a giant disco ball at a moment's notice. It's the Emperor's personal Party Wagon. The party that never ends."

Sort of like the nightmare that never ends, I amended silently, listing to Lambchop join Alvin and crew in my mental theme song department. _This is the nightmare that never ends. Yes it goes on and on, my friends. I started having it not knowing what it was, and now I go on having it forever just because…_

"Disco ball?" Han asked, a bewildered look on his face. "You have got to be the strangest woman I have ever met."

I sighed heavily, rubbing at my temples with my free hand. Figures that the Star Wars universe would have no sense of pop culture. Especially given that it was its own piece of pop culture, now that I thought about it. Still, that meant my not too shabby sense of humor was so wasted on these people. They needed an education reform, STAT! Ring up Uncle Palpy and tell him to add Humor Appreciation to the Academy class lists. If they could have a class on Blood Curdling Imperial Frost Stares, why not on how to have a freaking sense of humor?

"Whatevs," I muttered. "Too much to explain right now. Where's Luke and Leia? Shouldn't they be here by now?"

As if I had conjured them, the two in question came running around the corner.

"What kept you?" Han snapped, and I didn't bother to hide my pleased smile when his eyes swept over Leia, as if looking for signs of damage. Ah, young love. It was so cute in its beginning stages…

"We ran into some old friends," Leia puffed a bit out of breath, and then surprised me by throwing her arms around my neck, hugging me tightly. "Thank the Force you're safe. When you weren't with Luke and me, I feared the worst."

I awkwardly patted her on the shoulder, wanting to hug her back but feeling dirty about it, given that she was reacting to Hater's programming, not because she wanted to hug me. "Shit's good," I mumbled. "We're all here. But I've got a brilliant idea, and stop me if you've heard it, but how about let's NOT be here in the next five minutes?"

"I'm on board for that plan, and watch your language, please," she replied with a slight smirk. "You aren't working for the Imperials anymore. Please have some decorum."

Uh, say what? Was that part of her personality, or just another dig from Hater to try and keep me in line, to make me more princess-y?

"Decorum? Sure thing, Miss Manners, I'll get right on that. AFTER we aren't, say, being shot at or standing on this floating affront to nature. Tell you what. I'll gladly sit through all the princess-lectures you want to give if we survive. Until then? I'm going to cuss like a fucking sailor because it's the only thing holding my sanity together."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Luke dip his head. And I swear it was to cover a wide grin. At me or at Leia, I wasn't sure, but Farm-Boy over there was definitely having a laugh at someone's expense. Most likely mine. I looked at Leia. She looked at me. We had come to the same conclusion. And in tandem we turned the full power of Dual Princess Arrogant Stares at him.

He quickly cleared his throat, blushing slightly. "Is the ship alright?" Luke asked, smartly removing himself from our range and moving over to Han.

"Seems okay," Han grunted, straining to get a look-see himself. "It doesn't look like they've removed anything or disturbed her engines. The problem's going to be getting to it."

"Yeah," Luke said just a grimly. "I see what you mean. There's, what, four squads of stormtroopers out there right now?"

"More like two. Docking bay squads tend to be larger than normal on principle," Han countered, and his eyebrows rose suddenly. "They're leaving?"

"Why?" Leia asked, peering over the men as much as she could. "Luke, did your droids provide a distraction?"

Luke shook his head. "I don't think so. I didn't order one."

Oh hell, I remembered why they were leaving. And Luke wasn't going to like it, and I didn't like it either. It was time for Luke to have his second trial by fire, and my heart went out to him. This time it was my hand that closed over his shoulder, drawing his attention back to me.

"Luke, I need you to listen to me, sweetie," I took his face between my hands, drawing his eyes to mine. "Whatever happens, you need to run. Just run. Don't look back."

His eyebrows drew down in confusion, his mouth opening to ask a question—

"Now's our chance," Han said, and Luke's face turned from mine. "Move, now!"

I took Luke's hand in one and my skirts and borrowed blaster in the other. We ran. But no matter how much I tugged, no matter how much I wished, I couldn't keep him from looking back. I couldn't keep him from following the pattern of the movie. He saw what had caught the eye of the stormtroopers. He let go of my hand. Even when I wrapped my arms around his waist and tried to turn him around couldn't deter him.

He stared, transfixed, as the horror unfolded.

Obi-wan saw him.

Smiled sadly.

Lifted his saber in a salute of sorts.

And died at Vader's hands.

Just like he had in the movies.

Guess some things in the Lucas-verse just couldn't be changed. No matter how hard we tried, or how much we wanted to.

A hush filled the entire docking bay, a silence that felt like it lasted forever. In reality it only lasted less than a heartbeat. Long enough for me to press a soft kiss onto Luke's shoulder and whisper "I'm so sorry, hon" and quickly back away. Because, once again, I knew what was coming. I knew it, and I felt like a coward as I started to run for the ship, to get behind cover. A firefight was soon upon us, and being stranded flatfooted without cover was just asking for death.

"BEN! NO!" Luke screamed, signaling the fight to begin.

The stormtroopers turned and started to rain fire on us. Red, hot, angry fire. Like blood made into flame. Like the tears that streaked Luke's face as he was orphaned for a third time. He lifted his own blaster and returned fire, the kid hitting more often than not, taking down as many stormtroopers as he could in his grief.

Like his father had with the Sand People, I realized with a shiver. How eerily parallel that was.

"LUKE!" Leia screamed from the landing ramp of the Falcon. "IT'S OVER! IT'S TOO LATE! YOU HAVE TO COME NOW!"

Leia disappeared into the ship. After a moment, Luke ran towards her. I did the same…

… at least I tried to. But something got tangled in my legs, throwing me to the deck hard enough that I bounced twice and skidded a few feet. For a moment, I thought it was my skirts. Stupid Hater and his bloody Princessing! But then I remembered that I had learned from the last time that had happened. I had tucked my skirts over my arm, ensuring they wouldn't snare me like before.

And that's when the whatever it was that had tripped me got a firm grip on my left ankle, and I found myself sliding backwards. Away from the Falcon. Away from my only shot off this station before it blew.

"NO!" I screamed, clawing uselessly at the smooth durasteel floor. "Oh please, no! NO!"

I flipped over on my back when my rabid clawing failed, trying to see what had me. And felt my mouth fall open at the literal _nothing_ wrapped around my ankle. Seriously, nothing was there. Lunging forward and grasping my foot it with my fingers revealed nothing. Even a tractor beam of some kind would have a tingling sensation to it, wouldn't it? A glow of some sort to show that something was pulling me? But this…

It could only be one thing.

That realization hit me about the time my slide across the deck stopped. I found myself staring at very familiar boots and trousers, cut in the current Coruscant style. Beside those were a pair of slender boots and trousers cut in a feminine version of that same style. I swallowed a sob as my eyes did that slow motion horror thing, tracking ever upwards until the face of my attacker was revealed.

Lord Thrass and Lady Lorana (Threnody, whatever!) were standing over me, neither looking entirely too pleased at the moment. The latter's hand flickered away from my ankle to towards my wrist, the power she'd used to drag me across the deck redirecting itself at her whim. The blaster I hadn't realized I'd still been holding wrenched free of my fingers, floating into her hand.

"Did you really think it would be that easy to escape?" Thrass asked softly, tone dripping in menace. Once I was unarmed of course. He wasn't an idiot. "I am not quite finished with you yet."

A rumbling filled the docking area, and I closed my eyes, a tiny whimper leaving my lips. I didn't want to watch the Falcon sail away to safety, leaving me here. How was I going to get off this thing now? How was I going to fulfill Hater's orders? I couldn't be near his daughter if I died here!

What the freak was I supposed to do now?!

I couldn't stop the tears that fell. "You've doomed me to die," I said numbly, opening my eyes. "We're all going to die here now."

"Hardly," Thrass answered dismissively, taking the offered blaster from his wife's hand and inspecting it. "We were getting ready to leave, ourselves. Now that you are in our custody once again, my business on this station has reached its conclusion."

"She isn't going to come with us willingly, my husband," Plain-and-Tall said, staring down at me. "Most likely she believes her promise to obey you has ended."

"She would be wrong," he replied almost lazily, and pointed the blaster at my heart. "However, you have proved most difficult to control in the past, Miss Vasquez. Neither my brother nor I are in the mood to take chances at the moment."

Did he just call me… he did! He remembered my real name! Even if I couldn't say it, he knew it. And that gave me a tiny moment of relief. Just a tiny one, mind you. Maybe it was just me, but I was having a hard time trying to feel at ease with a pissed off Chiss pointing a blaster at my chest.

I was oddly reminded of that opening scene in Kill Bill, the one with Uma Thurman lying in a pool of her own blood, her full skirts of her wedding gown spread out around her. And her would-be killers arrayed in a circle, while her ex-lover was getting ready to put one in her skull. The similarities between her and me in that second were uncanny. Except I wasn't bleeding… yet. And in spite of Hater's best efforts to convince me otherwise, Thrass and I weren't real lovers.

But the blaster in his hand was real. So was the intent in his eyes as he leveled it at me.

That situation hadn't ended well for Uma's character. I didn't have any reason to believe it would end well for me.

"Thrass," I said carefully, as if trying to reason with a gun-toting psychopath. "You don't understand. Lord Vader has plans for me. I was supposed to leave with Leia on the Fal—"

I guess he pulled the trigger. Because my world was suddenly awash in blue and cold and pain. I was falling backwards into darkness, Thrass's voice becoming distant and muffled in my ears as he said something about Vader and orders and either could or couldn't protect me any longer. Something like that. It was all garbled, all slipping away with what was left of my hopes for survival, with what was left of my consciousness.

Then something touched my wrists.

I felt something else touch my mouth.

Then I felt… nothing.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: An extra special long chapter as a gift to everyone who has asked for it. Thank you again for all the reviews and the private messages. And the suggestions! I'm really happy that people are into this story enough to suggest scenes and characters. I hope you enjoy. :D

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Please do not sue.

* * *

I was seriously going to have to have a talk with the upstairs neighbors. The pounding baseline from the music at that party they were obviously throwing (without inviting me and the roomie, the nerve of some people, I tell you!) was enough to give me a splitting headache. It was so loud, in fact, that my head was starting to throb in tune with it. Feeling more like I had someone banging on to top of my skull with a hammer. But it was the irritating little fuck that was renovating the inside of my skull in tune with that baseline that was the most annoying part.

In other words, their inconsiderate party was giving me a migraine.

I mean, granted, our upstairs neighbors were in their middle eighties and were Vietnamese. Come to think of it, I was pretty sure they didn't speak a word of English, either, so that was going to make my shouting match a little more difficult than I was planning. It did strike me as a little odd that they would suddenly develop a taste for hard core underground rap music, too. But then again, I knew a sweet little old woman in her seventies named Ruth that sold crack out of the back of her granddaughter's stroller on the subway. She said she was doing it to build a college fund for her grandchildren—all sixteen of them—so they wouldn't have to resort to this kind of thing to make a living.

That was sweet, motherly, Ruth for you. She'd bake you the most delicious brownies, too. But just make sure to specify what kind of "Special" ingredient you wanted in them, first. Believing that she was adding a touch of "love" to the mix like you'd expect of adorable little old grandmothers would prove to be one of the biggest mistakes of your life. Trust me. The last time my roommate and I forgot to do that, we woke up two days later on our bathroom floor with matching dolphin tattoos.

You don't want to have to avoid drug tests for the next six weeks because you forgot to ask what was so special about the ingredients. You have no idea how hard it is—and how expensive it is—to purchase a clean urine sample from some freakshow stranger in a back alley. Just, no. Stop while you're ahead.

"She's awake," some chick was saying.

"Good," someone else replied, that voice smoothly modulated and reminded me vaguely of blue dragons. Why, I had no idea. "I was beginning to wonder if you had put her too far under in the healing trance."

"It was a possibility," the woman said again, a hint of a frown in her voice. "She was badly anemic and dehydrated. The stun bolt could have killed her. You may want to suggest that starving a prisoner is not necessary the best method of breaking down their defenses."

Stun bolt? Prisoners? Were there people in my house? Were they playing D&D? Man, I was going to be pissed if I got stuck playing the cleric again. I always got stuck playing the cleric.

I frowned. Okay, more like groaned, and reached for my temples. What the hell had I drunk last night at the bar? The only thing that had hurt this much was the time I had gone to Mexico for part of my anthropology internship. We'd found the good real tequila there. Stuff so strong it made the worm scream and explode the moment it touched the liquid. And given that we were in the middle of nowhere on a beach, a shot of it became how much you could get into your mouth at one time.

It didn't take too long for us to get completely bat-shit wasted. Frankly, I was surprised none of us woke up with brain damage the next day. Though given my nightmares about Star Wars lately, I was beginning to rethink that. Probably fried quite a few chunks of brain matter that night on the beach. Which would explain oh so much about my life, frankly.

"Mexico?" a third voice echoed, just as smooth as the blue-dragon but different. "Tequila? Are these things common to Abregado-Rae?"

"No," the dragon answered, sounding slightly put out. "I believe she lied about that, too. A pity."

Abregado where—

Oh. Shit.

I wasn't going to open my eyes. I didn't want to be here anymore. I didn't want to realize that the 'pounding baseline' I was hearing was nothing more than my pulse in my head courtesy of Jackhole and his stun-bolt-happy trigger finger.

No. Just no. No. Nope. Nada. Never. Nien. Non. iie. That last bit was Japanese, in case you were wondering. All those years of watching Anime paid off finally!

"No, no, no, no, no…" I whined shrilly, curling up on myself. "Why are you here? Can't you just go back to the Unknown Regions and play hide-and-go-fuck-yourself with Notso Easy or whomever? Just leave me alone."

"And there she is," Thrass muttered, dark amusement thick in his tone. "Apparently she did not learn from the last time we spoke with her. Something must be done about that mouth of hers."

"Something will," Thrawn replied, and I heard the rustle of fabric as he got up (apparently he was sitting? Where the freak were we now? Some posh living room?) and crossed the room to me. "You might as well sit up and open your eyes, Miss Vasquez. We are very much aware of the fact that you are fully conscious."

"No," I pouted, curling up onto the soft surface I was laying on. From the feel of it, it appeared to be a couch of some kind. Not that it mattered. I was content to lay there until the station blew up. It wasn't like I had a way off of it anymore. "Not talking to you anymore. Go screw."

"Is that how you speak to your heroes where you are from?"

He sounded amused. Figures I'd let him know that one little thing and he'd use it against me. Typical! "No, just heroes that take a header off their platforms and swan dive willingly into the depths of hell."

He chuckled. Or was that Thrass that chuckled? Probably Thrass, knowing his personality. But it was hard to tell one brother from the other with my eyes closed. Mostly.

"Please do sit up, Miss Vasquez. This is highly irregular."

"Piss off."

He sighed. Well, it was more like an intake of air and then an exhalation of air. Like he was trying to regain his calm or something. If I wasn't certain we were all going to die any minute now, I would have been horrified at saying something like that to Thrawn. Fallen hero or not, the man was still hella scary. And he could make me sit up if I didn't want to. Could probably make me sing the entirety of The Phantom of the Opera if it so tickled him to do so.

But you know what? He wasn't the only one barely hanging onto his composure. I was going to die here, too, and it was all because his bro and sis-in-law had decided it was more fun to ride the exploding crazy-train into the next life with me along for the heck of it. So yeah, I earned my right to be furious. And for once, he was going to deal with it.

"Don't you dare get pissy with me," I snapped, sitting upright. The world lurched a bit when I did that, and I was very glad of the solid cushion at my back. Righteous indignant rage lost some of its punch if you were too dizzy to stare indignantly at your target. "You don't get the right to be mad here. I do. And don't raise an eyebrow at me, either. I'm tired of trying to interpret Chiss-Dragon-Code. Just speak plainly, man. How freaking hard is that?"

He opened his mouth, probably to ask what in the Empire 'dragon code' was. I raised a hand to stop him.

"But hold on there a minute, bright eyes. I'm not done yet. You'll get your turn in a minute. You all realize that we're going to die, right? That this place is going to go up in a massive explosion to make the Fourth of July demonstration in Times Square look like someone poured flat soda on day-old pop rocks. And since you and you—" I jabbed a finger in the happy couple's direction—"stopped me from leaving on the Falcon, I get to join you in being blown to bits. So yeah, I'm a little pissed off about that. Not to mention you've just stepped in it with Vader, hard core. Tall, Dark, and Asthmatic gave me orders—"

I kept on talking. But suddenly I couldn't hear myself. It was like someone had pushed a big giant mute-Mary button.

"Thank you," Thrawn said, nodding in Lorana's direction.

"She was getting a little tiresome with her prattling," the most hated woman in the universe replied lazily. "Did you get enough to go on?"

"For the most part," he replied, and pinned me with those eyes. Eyes that normally made me want to scream in terror. Or, you know, scream in happy-happy-joy-joy-time if Hater's fake memories had anything to say about it.

I winced at that. And covered my eyes before the All Thrawn Male Review could start playing behind them. "Cold showers. Cold showers. Not thinking of him. Not thinking of him and yummy fun time. Not thinking…"

It didn't matter that they couldn't hear what I was saying. In fact, given what just played behind my peepers, that was probably a good thing. Unless Thrawn could read lips, I was—

"Yummy fun time?" the dragon replied. Lifting an eyebrow and making me want to leap up and yank it back into place.

Of course he could read lips! I shoved my face in my hands. Why couldn't he? It wasn't like my luck was that good that he couldn't. I went beat red. My hand rose to tell him via signal just what I thought of his question. You know, my favorite salute.

But he was ready for it. And in hindsight I shouldn't have done that with him standing close enough to touch me. His hand caught my wrist in what he was probably wanting to be an intimidating gesture. Instead, my breath caught and all the little naughty bits I'd chained down into my mental Pandora's Box about him burst their prison and ran willy-nilly down my Imagination Avenue. Oh, the things that Vader had put in there! I won't bore you with the details (not that they were boring, holy freaking crap so not boring!) but needless to say, I was breathing hard and staring at him like he was the last bit of oxygen left on this station.

"Now this is interesting," he said, and my eyes fluttered shut at the smooth velvet of his voice. Like the skin-to-skin contact activated tactile memories I hadn't known were there. "Not precisely the reaction we've had before, now is it, Miss Vasquez."

"Say it again," I mouthed.

"I beg your pardon?"

"My name. My real name. Say it again."

"Why?"

"Because I can't," I said silently before I realized it.

He still had a hold of my wrist, and he held it tightly as he took a seat on the sofa next to me. Which was a bad thing for me, because as much as my body want to be all over his, my brain wanted to be as far away from him as possible. Like half the galaxy away wasn't far enough. I tried to pull back, to slide across the sofa. His grip prevented that, and he started to pull me closer when he realized that near proximity to him was like dumping quarts of tequila down my throat. I was getting drunk off of him, basically.

"Very interesting, indeed. Care to explain your reaction, Miss Vasquez?"

I shook my head, whipping blond tangles about, not trusting myself to open my lips. I was too afraid they'd be fastened to his throat before I knew it. No, I wasn't going to tell him anything. Until he pulled me forward and I was practically in his lap, those eyes staring down into mine.

"Is this part of your hero worship?" he asked, the barest hint of a smile on his lips. His eyes ablaze with the knowledge that I was pretty much so in lust with him that I was one strained bit of self-control away from jumping him right there on the sofa. In front of his brother, no less! "What happened to the fear, Miss Vasquez? What happened to you in your time with Lord Vader?"

I shook my head again, eyes closing tight. "If you value anything, don't you touch me anymore."

Hey, I could hear my own voice again! It gave me back enough of my self-control to glance back towards Lorana. And then I gulped when I realized she was standing close enough to touch. And so was Thrass. Oh so not good. I didn't want to know what would happen if both of them touched me at once! In my panic, I jerked away from Thrass, which pretty much had me climbing up Thrawn's chest. His hands gripped my shoulders in an effort to keep me from using him as living ladder to get to the back of the sofa. But that plan backfired on the both of us.

Because he pulled me down at the same time I was pressing up. And, seriously, I couldn't be more honest if I had a whole stack of bibles in one hand and a burning bush in the other, our lips met by sheer accident. Yeah, I saw stars. Saw universes worth of stars. And fireworks. And I think I saw the inspiration for Dylan Thomas's poem entitled "Love in the Asylum. " Especially that one line where the narrator "suffered the first vision that set fire to the stars."

Yeah. That.

And so much more.

I jerked back, stunned. Horrified and delighted all at once. My body was alive with that kiss, and I wanted nothing more than to lean forward into it, to part my lips this time and really taste him. But my _heart _heart, you know, my emotional side, just wasn't into it. That part of me was busy calling me a hussy and worse, because there was a certain blue-eyed dilhole out there somewhere that I wanted more than I wanted the buffet of smooth-talking dragon before me.

My body wanted his so badly that I couldn't see straight. But I was falling hard for Praji, and in my heart there was just no comparison. No amount of mind-fuckery by Hater could change that. At least, I hoped not.

Thrawn had both eyebrows raised this time as we pulled apart, and the smirk that touched his lips was more than a little arrogant. "Very unexpected, Miss Vasquez, but not unwelcomed. Now are you ready to tell me why you can't say your own name?"

My tongue was once more plastered to the roof of my mouth. And the desire to kiss him over and over rose up in a black tide of pain. I suddenly felt like I would die if I didn't kiss him. If I didn't distract him from questions that I wasn't allowed to answer. I leaned in again, but he leaned away, the playful-amused look in his eyes fading. Especially when he saw the pained look in my mine.

"I see," he replied, lips compressing in a thin line. "Threnody, if you would be so kind as to assist?"

Her touch in my head was light, feather soft, a gentle breeze compared to the fist that had been Vader's last entry through my mental doorway. But it hurt all the same, rubbing against the raw, broken edges of memories. Like rubbing ice on an exposed nerve. She hissed between her teeth right before my eyes rolled up in my head. This time when Thrawn pulled me against his chest, there was no sexual attraction. No attempt to intimidate me. This time he was holding my arms down as I practically had a mini seizure in his lap.

"Stop! Stop!" I screeched, begged even. "Not again! No more, please! PLEASE!"

"Thrass?" Lorana questioned.

"You have my sincere apologies for this, Miss Vasquez," he answered softly, a touch of regret in his voice. "Press on. As much as she can take without permanent harm. We need to know what he is planning."

More pain. More thrashing. And his arms like durasteel holding me in place.

"I can heal this in part," Lorana said after a while, words sounding strained. "But he'll know I did it if he ever comes back to check on her."

"You mean Vader," Thrass supplied, the regret taking on a steel edge. "I know he did things to her mind, hers and Leia Organa. That was evident enough via their reactions during the … celebration ceremony. But to what extent?"

"You won't like the answer, my husband."

"When have I ever enjoyed anything that has to do with Lord Vader? Tell me."

She did, pulling it all out of me. Every last piece. Every last fake memory. Even the bits about Praji that weren't fake, up to and including my thoughts of Thrawn and Praji during that accidental kiss. But she wasn't able to access all my true knowledge about the Lucas-verse. Vader's mental blocks kept that sealed. What that meant, I really didn't want to know. Because either Vader knew everything I knew, or he'd partitioned that bit off for further research at a later date. Neither of which equaled a nice long life for me.

I don't know what I expected to happen when she was finished explaining all those lies. Maybe rage? Amusement? Being dumped from Thrawn's lap like a bad little puppy for liking Praji more than him?

I certainly didn't expect to come to my senses still in his arms, though seated comfortably at his side, my head on his shoulder. His arm around my shoulders and that hand holding onto my wrist. So he could control me, maybe? Like there was anything left energy-wise in me to control! I trembled as if they'd just pumped me full of Robi-whatever again. Only this time I couldn't meet their eyes. Any of them.

And I sorta sat there waiting for one of them to ring the bell and a WWE smackdown event to begin on the floor between Lorana and me. I mean, I'd lose my cool if I found out a woman had all sorts of sex memories about my husband. I'd jackknife powerbomb her face into the pavement until she had no face AND no desire to so much as even think in my man's direction ever again. Given that Lorana was a full Jedi—Sith or not made no difference—I expected it was going to be a very one-sided fight.

I hoped to high heaven that she cleaned my clock well and good and quickly. Because now my head hurt so badly I could hardly breathe.

She stepped into my blurry field of view, offering me a glass of what looked like water but smelled like candy. "You misjudge me, Miss V—Princess Aurora," she corrected. "I am quite secure in my feelings for my husband and his loyalty to me. I can hardly fault you for memories and emotions that weren't your intention or creation. Now drink this. It will help with the pain."

I took it in my right hand, trying very hard not to slosh it around. I was probably on Thrawn's shit list forever now, so aggravating him by spilling whatever this was across his uniform wasn't going to win me back any points.

"And no one in this room hates you, so please remove that notion from your thoughts," Lorana added.

"This is the point where I glare at you and tell you to get out of my head," I murmured, jumping slightly when Thrawn reached over with his free hand and held mine steady for me, bringing the cup to my lips so I could swallow without pulling an imitation of a two year old drinking without a sippy cup. "And then you say you aren't going to do that and I say some really snotty things about you in my head—"

"—like calling me Plain and Tall—"

"—and I get smacked around a lot until I either shut up or you explain what you're going to do to me next if I don't. I don't know if you got the memo, but I've had a pretty crappy couple of days. Can we just skip the middle man and get down to the brass tacks for a change?"

"And finally she gets it," Thrass put in, a somewhat bemused smile on his face. "Yes, let's put aside the juvenile antics and get to the heart of the matter. It seems the four of us are now central figures in some sort of plot belonging to Lord Vader. We," he indicated his brother, his wife, and himself. "Have been aware of an undercurrent of political unrest in the upper levels of the Empire for a while now. Something to do with Lord Vader and the leadership of the Imperial Navy, we believe. But now it appears to go deeper."

"And what does that have to do with me?" I asked the floor. "I'm not connected with the Navy at all."

"Patience, Princess," Thrass quipped, turning to the computer at his elbow, typing something into it. "All will be revealed in due time."

The coffee table sprang to life, a holo display floating above it. Showing still-frame images of Thrass and I, of Thrawn and I, of even Lorana and I.

"What the fu—"

The glass was pressed to my lips again by Thrawn before I could complete the obscenity. I glared at him as I drank. First Leia's miss manners routine and now these guys, too?! Did no one cuss around here? Was it a law of the Lucas-verse that since he wanted all his movies PG-13 or lower that people here just couldn't tolerate profanity? Part of me wondered if they had a word-weakness like the Knights Who Say Ni, and if I found the right profane word, I could defeat them all.

Lorana stared at me with her eyebrows drawn down, mouthing the word "Ni" over and over again. I blushed, then rolled my eyes. "Later, sweetie," I muttered at her, and almost earned a mouth full of liquid again as Thrawn attempted to shut me up once more. The glittering warning in his eyes did more for that than the glass did.

"How?" I asked instead, focusing on the images. "Where?"

"The 'how' can be answered by ISB most likely. The quality of the fake images is near perfect, a calling card of their particular brand of assistance," Thrawn interjected. "The 'where' I'm assuming is where these images were found."

Thrass nodded. "I performed this search when Threnody uncovered our, shall we say, imagined pasts together. There are hundreds of images in the Imperial archives of a similar nature. To anyone that has even remote access to such things, there are photo and holographic evidence trails to back up what Lord Vader has put in your head. To be blunt, Princess, whether or not our affairs happened in reality, the galaxy believes them to be truth."

I was suddenly glad that whatever Lorana and Thrawn had force-fed me killed my headache, as I had a feeling another was on its way. "Is that why you keep calling me Princess when you know damn well I'm not one?"

"Prove to me that you aren't," Thrass challenged mildly.

"Isn't that supposed to be the other way around?"

His eyes flickered to the images still floating before us. "Usually. However I am learning that anything that has to do with you is far from usual. Besides, I have a mountain of evidence now that supports your claim to being an Alderaan noble. Including a birth certificate and official adoption papers from Bail Organa, himself."

He tapped another few keys and the images changed. Now there were hundreds of photographs of Leia and I in the Senate's gardens. Photos of the two of us on Alderaan as tweens. It went on and on through all levels of our lives until I wanted to throw up. Thankfully, Lorana crossed to her husband's side and turned off the projector before I, err, _projected._

"Let me guess," I put in when I was certain I was no longer going to lose my candy-water. "With Alderaan's destruction, there are very few people left out there to dispute my claims. Especially with Leia out there to back up said claims?"

"Precisely," Thrawn replied. "Our next step is how we avoid the backlash once Lord Vader's traps are sprung."

I shifted again, and Thrawn let me lean forward to put my near empty glass on the table. But he didn't let me stand up. "Uh, your Admiral-ness, correct me if I'm wrong but you just said you're going to talk strategy about Hater's latest scheme. Considering Lor—Threnody—just confirmed Hater's got his hand so far up my ass I could double as a glove, wouldn't you want me out of the room before you started in on the ploty goodness? Because I still don't see how this involves me at all."

His lips twitched in a bit of a smile. "You may call me Thrawn if you wish, Princess, considering once we leave this room you and I will be playing the part of lovers. And this involves you through your new connection to Princess Leia. I believe Vader is making a power play for control of the entire Navy, and using Princess Leia and yourself as instruments to pull down the rebellion. With that kind of credit to his name, there will be no one to stand in his way."

That part caught me off guard, alright. The lovers part, I meant. The rest of that convoluted pile of nonsense he'd so carefully explained sounded so much like Vader and Thrawn that I could have sworn I was reading it from the latest canon novel. But I was so busying making my 'say what?' face at the thought of me and Thrawn strolling arm in arm down the street that I was pulled back into place against him before I knew it.

"So that's why you haven't called me Miss Vasquez in the past while," I sighed. "You aren't going to undo what Hater did to me. You're going to send me back into the rebellion, only to do your bidding instead of Hater's."

"Essentially correct but not entirely," he said honestly. "For the moment, your new memories need to stay in place. We need this for several reasons. The first being that Threnody is not strong enough yet to completely repair the harm done to you. The second being that Lord _Vader_—not Hater—would know instantly if such things were tampered with. We don't want to reveal too much of our plans to him just yet."

"Uh, flag on the play, loverboy. If we start in with the lovey-dovey stuff right away, he's gonna know that something is up. Considering _he_ knows that we've never, uh, you know, 'played Parcheesi,' if you catch my drift."

"Parcheesi?" Thrass chuckled, shaking his head. "At least you are entertaining, Princess. You are going to make certain this adventure is never dull."

"Yeah, isn't that purpose of the comic relief in any story?" I shot back sarcastically.

Thrawn snapped his fingers in front of my face. "Focus, please. Yes, he will be aware that something has taken place. Just as he will soon learn that you did not escape with the others as he had planned. I want him to be cognizant of these things. In fact, he is going to learn through various sources that I captured you before your escape, and you bartered for your life."

"With sex?" I snorted. "Even I don't buy that load of dreck, gorgeous. You don't take lovers. That's a well-known fact."

Those eyebrows lifted yet again. "True. Though I am curious as to how a lowly Abregado-Rae citizen knows that. Relax, Princess, we do not have the time for a discussion regarding how you have lied to me repeatedly," he interjected, apparently because I sort of made a rather undignified yelp-squeak-fearish sound. "You owe me your life, by the way. I did warn you that you would if you lied to me."

"Which is part of the reason I'm here?"

"Partly, yes," he nodded. "And partly due to the fact that we have something in common now. Just like with the destruction of your homeworld."

"It's not my h…" I swallowed, hand reaching towards my mouth and the fact that my tongue curdled when I tried to deny my supposed birthplace.

"You may as well stop defying Lord Vader's implanted orders," Lorana said matter-of-factly. "Little slips like that will alert others to the fact that you are not who you claim to be. And we need Princess Aurora to be Princess Aurora for the time being."

"But why? Forgive me for being the dense one here, but why would Vader knowing we know what we know that he knows we know, at least in part, be of any help to you? Wait, I think I just confused myself. Let me try again. What would—"

"I followed that well enough, I believe," Thrawn cut in, a slightly amused smile on his lips again. "I want him to know these things because it will make him pause, make him wonder just how much more I could know, and what counter strategy I am employing. I want him cautious and curious. And the reasons for that are the parts that I can't share with you."

"Because of Vader's making me his personal oven-mitt?"

Lorana sat up suddenly and started coughing, sputtering out her own glass of the candy-water. I winced a bit. Apparently she was still in my brain, and apparently she caught the fleeting mental image of Vader in an apron and a chef hat, doing the Swedish Chef impersonation while pulling a cake from a 1950s style oven. And the mitts on his hands were shaped like me and Leia as he did so.

"Sorry," I mumbled at her, causing both Thrass and Thrawn to look at me with dual raised eyebrows. I kinda shrunk back against his shoulder at that look. "I can't help it. Vivid imagination. Everything comes with a mental image with me. You might want to take that into consideration if you want to stay in my brain space, L—Threnody."

She sent me a rather unfriendly look, though that was kinda spoiled by the amused grin that tried to plant itself on her lips. Oh, she was going to be rocking that little mental snapshot for a while. Using it to make herself smile every time Vader gave her crap about something. At least she got an eye full of that and not the crap I'd shoveled at Vader. Plans or not, I don't think Thrawn could protect me from her wrath if I stuck her with reruns of American Idol or Married with Children.

Too bad we were all going to die before these plans happened—

"Oh shit!" I exclaimed, nearly breaking my arm as I tried to leap to my feet but Thrawn refused to let go. "We've gotta go! Now! This place, this station, is gonna blow soon! I don't know how soon as I don't know how long I took a deck-nap thanks to Captain-Trigger-Happy over there, but we have go!"

"So you have mentioned before," Thrawn said, absolutely unconcerned apparently with our impending doom. "I do not believe—"

It was Lorana, bless that turncoat mind-lingering Jedi, that finally saw the truth in all my mental faffing about. "She isn't lying," she said, growing alarm on her face. "The rebels have located a weakness in this station. We do have to leave as soon as possible. This station _will_ explode."

Thrass was on his feet in an instant, so was Thrawn, dragging me along. "Is it something we can combat or prevent?" Thrass asked.

Lorana didn't apologize this time. That breeze slipped into my head and I was trembling in Thrawn's arms before long. Before she pulled out and left me gasping. "No," she said at length. "Not now. There isn't time."

"Duh!" I mumbled angrily, trying to regain my footing, clutching to my supposed lover's uniform to stay upright. "Only been saying that since I arrived!"

"How long do we have?" Thrawn asked quietly. Ignoring me.

"Probably until this station reaches the Yavin system," Lorana replied. "We need to leave the Death Star the moment it drops out of hyperspace."

"That gives us a little time, then. Not much, but some," Thrawn replied, relaxing a bit. "Call for a security detail and have Princess Aurora taken to my shuttle. I want her transported to the _Admonitor _as soon as possible. Tell Senior Captain Parck to lock her in one of the empty luxury suites once on board.

"Wait," I tried, watching as Lorana and Thrass moved to opposite sides of the room, issuing their own orders into private comlinks. "There are two men here that need to be saved, too. Well, more than two men, but please, please hear me out. Have Commander Nadonnis Praji taken off the station, too. And Sergeant Nova Stihl. And Dr. Uli! They are good men. Don't let them die here, please. Oh, and I know you are fond of General Veers and his work, too. So tell him when the snow speeder is coming at his AT-AT to not just duck, to literally dive out of the head-shaped control thingy, otherwise he's going to lose his legs. And that isn't going to help his career."

His eyes lost that amused glitter, focusing on me in a way that reminded me just how dangerous he really was. "You and I are going to have a very long talk when we're both on the _Admonitor._ And you are going to tell me everything you know and how you know it. As to your requests, Commander Praji was removed from this station days ago. He was assigned to another ship under Lord Vader's personal control. Considering he was hand-selected for part of Lord Vader's personal staff officers, I believe it is safe to say that he no longer has any memories of you. Or do you think Lord Vader would leave such a loose end drifting about?"

I had no words for that. My heart dropping like a stone in my chest. Would Vader really do it? Would he remove me from Praji's memories? Yes, he would in a hot minute. If only to dangle the hope above my head that he would one day give Nadonnis back his memories if I behaved. He'd all but alluded to as much, tempting me with being able to have both Nadonnis and Thrawn. And, if I were to believe Thrawn, Nadonnis was out there sailing the stars, blissfully unaware that he was now an emotional hostage for Hater to use against me.

"How did you know all this?"

The eyes still retained their hard edge, but his lips took on that tight smile he was so fond of using. "Because I am not the type to leave loose ends drifting about, either. Now, smile, my Princess," Thrawn whispered, reaching up to brush away a tear I hadn't known I'd shed. "Your escort is here. And we are lovers. Act the part."

The doors opened to reveal the usual twin pack of jerkfaces, and instead of smiling, I threw my arms around his neck. A lover's wild embrace, or so I hoped it looked like. "You find Nadonnis. You have Lorana fix him. And I'll do whatever you say, loverboy," I whispered in his ear. "If not, then fire up your magic eight-ball and buy stock in Robitussin. 'Cus you'll have to fight me for every single thing you want me to do."

His arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me in tightly, his mouth touching my ear. "We are only playing at lovers, Princess," he whispered, voice cold as ice. "You've been warned once before to never dictate to Thrass or myself. You would be wise to listen to that advice, or I'll make certain you do _every_ single thing I want you to do for the rest of your life. Do not make enemies where you do not have to. Am I clear?"

Yeah, that was clear alright. And when we pulled back from each other, there was true passion in our eyes. Too bad it was near to loathing instead of love. Funny how the two things could look so similar. "I will see you soon," I whispered as I stepped towards the door. "Pray take care of yourself until then."

His smile was small, but warm, a contrast to his glittering eyes. "Count on it, my Princess."

The doors closed behind me, obscuring all three of my new frenemies from view.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: And we live! Well, Mary and I survived the influx of in-laws and holiday cheer. We are both sick as dogs now with the flu, but at least our families are happy, our wish lists were fulfilled, and we're ready to ring in the New Year. I apologize for all the reviews I haven't answered yet. I'm getting there as fast as the Nyquil haze will let me. So thank you for the favorites, reviews, and private messages!

To answer one question here that I get a lot: No, this story isn't going to stay imperial centric. But it will float back and forth as the trilogy moves on. So please be patient. Mary and the Rebellion will cross paths soon. Very soon. As in I've written it already. Just waiting on the real Mary to finish beta'ing it for me. :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing save my OC, Andryl Paxton. Mary owns Mary. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun.

* * *

So this is what it felt like to be a Disney Villain. It was an odd sensation, truth be told. I was suddenly on the wrong side of the movie equation, no longer the snappy comedy relief to the majestic hero and his overly skinny but somehow always musically talented heroine. And speaking of that, was it my imagination or did every Disney Princess have a waist size of like twelve inches and yet could belt out songs that made walls shake with their intensity? How was that even possible? A freaking sneeze should have blown them backwards like four feet at least.

Don't even get me started on what their diaphragms must be shaped like to get into that super tiny abdomen and push air in and out of that body. Must be like shoving a watermelon out a hole the size of a lemon. Just… bleh.

At least the villains were proportional. And if I had to number myself among them now, I could take that as a small comfort. Not that you would find me launching into song on the Death Star, mind you. Just get that right out of your head right now. Remember, I've told you that I'm not special. I'm not some kind of superhero. Vader proved that I don't have the Force, and I've proven I don't have magic shoes (thrice _damn _Praji for destroying my shoes! I still mourn their passing. Such sweet, innocent beautiful vintage Converse now in the hands of some happy angel in heaven).

I couldn't sing Happy Birthday and make it believable even if I wanted to. And the last thing I needed was for my uncoordinated self to participate in a Broadway musical number like the opening of Beauty and the Beast, complete with a chorus of Stormtroopers all kick-lining behind me and singing bad backup lines like "She's so evil. Oh, you go girl. Go with your little wicked self. Oh!"

Yeah, so not putting that on my list of qualifications for joining the Evil League of Evil. This wasn't a knock off of Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along blog.

Frick and Frack the sequel (the original being the set of jerkfaced stormtroopers that had escorted me—and I use that term escort loosely, people. More like tossed my sorry butt like a lawn dart towards an unwanted relative at the family reunion) kept up a steady pace just one step behind me. Which was refreshing to be honest as all the other times I'd been in the company of a pair of white-armored men like this, I had been the prisoner. Now I was the one in the lead for once, stomping down the corridors like I owned the place with the two of them flanking me as my honor guard.

People moved when I entered the halls, officers that not a day before would have enjoyed watching me being smacked around like a game of tether ball now stood at tight attention. Or they saluted—_saluted!_—me. I came to a complete stop the first time that happened, my escort nearly slamming into my back like two white dominos colliding in sequential order. My jaw flapping open like I was trying to catch flies or something. The poor officer in question went pale at my expression, as if _he_ was the one that had done something wrong.

Never mind the fact that the guy was twice my age and looked like he chewed rocks for breakfast.

It took me a good five minutes to explain to the man that I was, uhhh… impressed with his sharp recognition of an Imperial Princess and I was, erm… deeply honored that he would show such respect. Yeah, can you believe it? I had to reassure some dude trained to kill people like me on sight that _I_ wasn't going to bust _his_ ass over some misconceived error on his part. I tell ya, sometimes my life was too weird, even for me.

Yup. I was totally pimped out as a bad guy now. Just call me Darth Blondie. I was large and in charge.

A filtered-cough sound escaped one of the jerkfaces behind me, suspiciously reminding me of a suppressed laugh. I sent them both the tried-and-true Imperial Princess Power Stare. All that managed to produce was two innocent looking, indistinguishable bookends carrying enough fire power to slag through walls. Honestly, how in the Empire had Leia managed to make people jump with just a glance? I couldn't do it, and I was supposed to be a Princess, too! These two just stood impassively but at full attention, blaster rifles held ceremoniously across their chest. Not so much as a hint of fear peeking through their precise blameless little stances. Maybe I wasn't a Darth after all. More like a Dumb.

The way they stood there made me wonder just how deep the Emperor's twisted sense of humor went. Apparently he had a great love of irony, and of mixing innocence with horror if this display was any indication. Sounded like a Sith cocktail to me. One part innocence. Two parts horror. Add a twist of irony and shake well. Serve in a chilled scream.

We'll call it the Palpatini.

"Really?" I snapped, eyeing them both coolly… well, shrilly, actually. If you could look at someone shrilly. Something else to look up later. "You two have anything to say? 'Cus don't be shy, now. Let's have a great big free-for-all right here and get it all out in the air."

Frick2, the one on the right, made another sound, this one definitely a clearing of his throat. "Your Highness," he began tentatively. "I beg your forgiveness for my impertinence in addressing you directly, but we must continue on our way. Grand Admiral Thrawn gave specific orders and—"

"Yeah, yeah. The darling love of my life must be obeyed," I sighed, fighting not to fist my hands in my hair and scream. Definitely not a princess-like thing to do, and I was supposed to be acting like one. To be completely honest, though, I didn't feel like a Princess. More like Buttercup in The Princess Bride. "Alright, to the wench, wench!"

I stormed off in a general direction, stopping instantly when Frick2 rushed ahead of me. "Your Highness, not to contradict—"

"Oh, spit it out already, Frick Two. We don't have time for this."

He started. "Frick Two?"

"Well, if you aren't going to tell me your name, you've left me no choice but to make one up for you."

He actually sputtered, as if he was blushing behind that helmet. I ground my teeth. If he was just another twenty-something blameless farm boy that had a crush on the "princess" part of me instead of the real me, I was going to take that blaster from his hands and eat it. Then again, I just realized that aside from the irritation in my tone, that had sounded a little like I was hitting on him. Maybe it was thinking about inventing drinks like the Palpatini that had me reverting back to my flirty bartending days.

Don't knock it, folks. Flirts get you more tips than being all surly. How many times have you tipped a waitress with a bad attitude? I'm guess somewhere in the range of never. But considering the only tips these two were likely to give me were at the end of a blaster rifle, I should probably tone down the flirts and make more like Leia with the cold regal distance thing.

"Uh, my n-name is Paxton, Your Highness. Andryl Paxton, Corporal. Operating number 22568974."

"Great. Nice to meet you, Pax. Now, how about getting to the point sometime soon? Sorry to be a bitch right now, but this hasn't been the best of weeks for me."

"Of course, Your Highness," he said quickly, respectfully, and just to irritate me further, snapping to complete attention. "I wanted to let you know that the docking bay we need is not in this direction. It's in the other direction."

"Oh, thanks. Not just another pretty face, are you?" I said, turning on my heel and heading back the way I'd came.

And then wincing yet again when what I'd just said caught up with me. But I couldn't help it! Cool distance was just so … I dunno… not me. Sarcasm and flirting? That was part of what made up the Mary cocktail. Add in a few dashes dark humor, stir, and serve in a giant fangirl obsession. That was the Long Island Iced Mary. And right now I needed all the Mary I could get my hands on, because there was no one really on my side in this bloody mess. No one remembered Mary that wanted to save Mary, except for me.

Thrawn, Thrass, Vader and Lorana knew who I was. None of the above wanted anything positive for me out of this situation. They'd all but tied strings to my arms and were fighting over who got to make me dance this time. Luke, Leia, Han and Chewie, in spite of their good hearts and better intentions, didn't know Mary to begin with, so why would they have any interest in helping me remain who I was? Especially given that Leia hated the real me for being… well… me.

That left Nadonnis Praji. Who really liked me. The real me. The _Mary_ me. And now he had no memory of us if Thrawn was to be believed. It was like our time together never happened! Whether or not that was the truth or just another attempt to get me to rely on the arrogant Chiss-dragon, to be part of the convoluted brilliant plot he was weaving around all of us, I had no idea. I couldn't hold a candle to Thrawn's masterful tactics, nevertheless try to figure them out. Everything he did made the great Gordian Knot look like a five-piece puzzle. Irritating, really.

But not as irritating as the knowledge that I needed him right now. And even then, all I could do was sit down, shut up, hold on, and pray that whatever the outcome of his planning, I was on the winning side. And by I, I mean the real me. The Mary me, and not whatever I was being made into.

Eergh. My head was starting to pound again just thinking about that.

"To the wench, wench?" I heard Pax whisper quietly to his counterpart.

"Don't ask me," the other whispered back. "It made no sense to me, either."

Yeah, head pounding, alright. The feeling that I knew Frack2's tone from somewhere wasn't helping any! And, insult to injury, these guys didn't know Princess Bride? For _reals_? I was walking through a universe that had no concept of 'My name is Inigo Montoya' and 'Dread Pirate Roberts'?! Just another reason the Lucas-verse wasn't as great as I'd thought it would be.

Another new cocktail sprang to mind: The Lucas-verse. Two parts hope. One part shock. Blend until smooth and serve in a piping hot WTF!

"I hate this place," I sighed, rubbing my temples and trudging along.

* * *

I was vaguely surprised and a touch alarmed when the unholy trinity (i.e. Thrass, Thrawn, and Lorana) didn't join me on the shuttle before it took off. It was Thrawn's shuttle, after all. It was there for his use. And I had been sitting in it—okay _pacing _in it—for a good thirty minutes didn't do much to settle that alarm. I wasn't permitted to leave for my own safety, or so much as poke my head outside the landing ramp. So much for the privileges associated with being Thrawn's latest squeeze.

So when I was told to sit down and strap in for takeoff, I was less than okay with it. As much as I really hated what the three of them were forcing me to do, I didn't want to see them dead. They weren't bad guys… ish. Okay, they weren't _really _bad guys like Vader or Palpatine, all soaked in icky dark Sith drippings as if they'd been stupid enough to take a swim in the Hudson. They were folks that had agendas and goals, people they wanted to see protected. And the only way they could do it was to work through the Empire.

So, not really bad guys. But definitely not shiny sparkling good, either. Grey was the best way I could describe them. Dark grey like winter skies before a blizzard fell. And I'd rather that they be living grey snow clouds than grey-splattered-particles-across-the-galaxy when this station pulled a Marvin the Martian with an illudium pu-36 space modulator and went up in an earth shattering KABOOM.

Damn, I missed Looney Tunes. Bet that didn't exist here, either.

Pax and Frack2 wouldn't let me use the comm. to try and reach the sith Three's Company. So I sat in the comfortable seat of a _Lambda class_ shuttle, strapped in for my safety rather than as a restraint for once, and gazed out the forward window as the docking bay rushed past us, gey-durasteel walls vanishing to be replaced by stars. Even in my fear, my worry, I was awe-struck by the beauty of those stars. It wasn't the same as staring up at them from the ground at night, even on the clearest of nights. This was pure, unadulterated by florescent and neon lights. No skyscrapers to cut ugly chunks out of the view.

Nothing but authentic natural stars like unset jewels.

It was stunning.

It made me sad all of a sudden, too. Because there I was witnessing the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, a view that would make even the most devout atheist thank God that such magnificent creations could exist, and I was doing it alone.

I wanted Praji next to me, or, heaven help me, even Thrawn. Praji because he knew me, and I'd like to think that he would have enjoyed watching the stars through my eyes. Thrawn would at least enjoy talking about the artistic elements that raced through my head at this scene. This view was probably as normal to them as the New York Skyline was to me, and I felt a touch of guilt threading through my loneliness for rolling my eyes at every tourist that stood on the sidewalk, blocking my way to work, gawking up at the cement monstrosities that made up the Concrete Jungle.

True wonder was such a precious and fragile thing. If I made it home, I would never again count myself as a jaded New Yorker. I forced my eyes to look away, arms wrapping around myself. Feeling cold all of a sudden. Man, it sucked being alone.

"You're not alone, Princess," Frack2 said quietly at my side, as if reading my thoughts.

I jumped as his hand touched my shoulder, but not because his hand had touched me. But because I had finally placed his voice! "Nova?" I whispered, pulling a quick eye-dart around the cabin. Pax was in the front, relaying my supposed lover's commands. We had a moment. "How? Why?"

He squeezed my hand where it reached up to grasp his. "You saved my life back there. I owe you a debt."

"Uh, you let me shoot you, sugar. I think that debt's been paid."

"I told you before that you didn't shoot me, Your Highness. _ I_ shot me. So I still owe you."

I shook my head. "You don't know what you've done. I'm in this too deep now. Like eye-level and sinking fast. I'm not getting out like you and your friends. You have a real chance to leave this all behind, to go on and do good things for the right people for a change. So go back to the Death Star with this shuttle. They're going to send it back for Thrawn and the others. At least they better. You'll still have time to hook up with Dr. Uli and Memah and the rest."

"I took care of that," he said. "I took your advice, Princess. I listened to the dreams instead of treating them like nightmares. Thanks to you, I saw them for what they really were—visions. The ambush that will happen at the medical corridor is handled. I set enough explosives in that hallway and Vill has the detonator. They'll get out safe and alive. Which leaves me free to help you, Your Highness."

"Call me M… Call me Rori," I said instead, sighing. Adding him to the list of people that would have no interest in saving Mary. Someone who thought he owed everything to Princess Stupid Aurora. "And I don't need help, not if it's going to get you killed. I didn't save your life just so you could lose it hours later. And make no mistake about it, hon, Thrawn _will_ kill you if he learns you are here. If only because he'll believe you deserted."

Nova's helmeted head shook slightly, and not in a negative way. Almost as if he was chuckling behind it. "You don't talk like a Princess, Rori."

"Careful there, slick. I punched the last guy that said that to me."

"Did you, now?" There was a smile in his voice, despite the gravity of our situation. "I like it."

"What, the way I talk or the name Rori?"

"Both. Both suit you, I think."

"Then that either makes you a good judge of character or someone with lousy taste in friends," I smirked up at him. "Or both. Both suit _you_, I think."

This time the laugh made it through his helmet filter. And I suddenly wasn't so alone.

* * *

My enjoyment of the stars with Nova was short-lived. Not a minute after that precious second of shared laughter, Pax came back and we had to resume the serious roles of Imperial consort and her escorts. But worse than that, the imposing wedge shape of the Imperial I-Class Star Destroyer _Admonitor _cut across my observation path. Behind it, growing slowly in size was the giant gas planet called Yavin and the emerald green nugget that represented the moon called Yavin IV. And somewhere on that moon, Leia and the rebels were preparing to attack.

Was Fate that cruel? Was I going to have a front row seat to the death of millions on the Death Star so soon after the death of billions on Alderaan?

Okay, I'll admit that, to a certain extent, I was more an Imperial fangirl than any other faction in the Star Wars universe. And let me clarify that with the following statement: I was an Imperial Fangirl _after_ Palpy was dethroned. I really hated what Palpatine and Vader did to people, don't mistake that. But what happened to the galaxy after Uncle Palpy took that final plunge into reactor-ville made me glad that he put Imperial structure in place. I won't get into all that post Return of the Jedi stuff now. Just suffice it to say that without the Emperor's initial vision of order and military might, the galaxy as we knew it would have gone down in flames in no time.

So that meant that I really _did_ want to see the Death Star destroyed due to what it represented. But at the cost of all those lives on it? All those people that really believed in what they were doing? It was just as bad as what happened to Alderaan in my opinion. Save for the fact that all those people on the Death Star were going to die and that would be the end of it, instead of countless worlds and lives being destroyed if the Death Star stayed in the hands of monsters like Tarkin and Motti.

It was a crap deal any way you looked at it. And I don't care how battle hardened you are, being _that guy _that had to make the decision to save billions by killing millions was going to haunt you for the rest of your life.

Come to think of it, wasn't _that guy_ Luke Skywalker? Wasn't it also Leia?

No wonder anyone in Imperial uniform hated the Skywalkers with a passion.

These disturbing little revelations caused me to miss watching the _Admonitor_ opened its gaping jaws and swallow the shuttle. I was not too gently startled out of my thoughts when Nova's armored hand touched my shoulder again. "We've landed, Your Highness. Senior Captain Parck awaits at your pleasure."

"Translation: probably not a good idea to waste his time, huh?"

"We would never presume to tell a noble how to spend her time," Pax put in, though the hardness in his tone made me think it was directed more at Nova—or how he thought Nova was speaking out of turn—than at me.

"It's okay, Pax," I said softly, resigning myself to the fact that this was going to be just like Alderaan all over again. I could feel it. "He's right. We should get moving. Thank you for the escort. You've done yourself and the Empire honor today."

Pax snapped to attention so sharply I was surprised he didn't crack a boot heel. How lovely, I'd just made his day! I was so glad my royal station could give him such praise. Sarcasm, folks. Learn it, live it, love it.

I rose to my full height, took a moment to run my fingers through my curled hair. How it still maintained this luscious body after all I'd been through since Vader's princessing just boggled my mind. I was really going to have to find the name of the stylist that had done this. That man or woman or droid deserved the Nobel Peace Prize or whatever award they give out to people who work the impossible. Considering my hair was behaving for once, I moved him/her/it from Worker of the Impossible to Hoggwarts level Professor. Wake up the sorting hat and slap it on, for we had a new wizard to add to the class!

When I was satisfied I looked presentable enough to appear as Thrawn wanted me to (as his somewhat bedraggled but lovely little bed warmer, the bastard), I let my escort lead me down the landing ramp.

Senior Captain Voss Parck was everything I would have expected. Tall, striking in appearance (which must have been a requirement to serve in uniform in the Empire, because I'd yet to run into a truly unattractive man. Well, aside from Fucktard and Murder-Face, mind you, but that was more personality than appearance), with brown eyes akin to Leia's with their deep quiet fire, and brown hair just beginning to go silver at the temples. His uniform was immaculately pressed, his posture military perfect.

It was the warm smile that touched his lips at my appearance almost made me loose a step. Oh yeah, I had totally forgotten about that part of him. The part that was so loyal to Thrawn you'd think that he'd drank the company Kool-Aid or something. Literally, the fanatic light in his eyes was enough to make me want to walk really carefully around him. You never knew what a fanatic could or would do until you set him off. And the way he was looking at me, like I was the rarest and most precious jewel in the Imperial crown, made me swallow hard.

Apparently he'd already bought into the whole story about Thrawn and I being an item.

"Your Highness," he said formally, adding a bow that I guess was appropriate for my station. "We are honored at your presence. Grand Admiral Thrawn made it absolutely clear that all should be ready for your arrival. Please, if you would come this way."

He extended an arm for me to take, and I about recoiled from it as if it were made of Mottis or something. Of all the things I that could blow my cover story, I never dreamed it would be the "royal walk." You know the one I'm talking about. Where the guy and gal walk in unison, perfectly graceful and in sync with one another? I was so not that gal. Aside from holding hands with a guy for a stroll through Central Park, I was pretty much left out in the cold on how to do this.

I called to mind the marriage of Kate Middleton and Prince William Windsor, the only royal couple I'd ever laid eyes on. Well, through the TV at any rate. Don't judge! I was a devote follower of the Royal Family even if I wasn't British. I'd sobbed like a happy baby when Prince Charles and Princess Di got married, and ditto for when Kate and William tied the proverbial knot. Besides, when Jackie O. died, America didn't have any more "royals" to adore. Who else was I supposed to turn my attentions to, the Kardashians? The Hiltons? Ugh. I'd rather piss gasoline down my legs and shave with a blowtorch.

But Kate was so poised on her new husband's arm, her head held level instead of high, and her smile gentle rather than full blown. She was like every modern girl dreamed a Princess should be. I did my best to imitate that. Picking up the front of my skirt delicately, of course. Not planning to fall on my face this time, thank you very much.

"Thank you, Senior Captain," I took his arm with a Kate smile. "You are most kind. May my guards accompany us?"

The smile on Parck's lips twisted a bit to an almost frown. Oh holy crap, I'd just insulted him, hadn't I? Implied that he and his people weren't good enough or trustworthy enough to protect their precious Grand Admiral's little love toy? Kate wouldn't have made a blunder like that.

I had to WWKD quickly. As in What Would Kate Do?

"I am so sorry," I whispered, glancing down. "I am being rude and horrible. Please forgive me. I did not mean to cause insult. I am… I have been through much, Senior Captain. I am more than certain your people are above adequate to protect me."

That seemed to pacify him, the frown smoothing out in a look of sympathy. "There was no insult, Your Highness," he said gently, taking my other hand in his and squeezing gently. "And please, it is simply Captain Parck, or Voss if you prefer. Let us go to your quarters, my lady. I have ordered a refreshment brought to your rooms. You are safe now. No harm will come to you under my watch."

Oh, if he only knew…

He looked over my shoulder, signaling to Pax and Nova, who fell into step behind us. Inwardly, I felt my heart fall back into my chest. Nova now had a legit reason to be onboard the _Admonitor, _or he soon would when I sweet-talked Voss into letting me keep him. Thrawn was probably not going to be happy with that, but he could deal as far as I was concerned. This was the least I could do for Nova if he was going to be stubborn enough to hang around here with me. Besides, I had my own selfish reasons for wanting him around. This way, I had at least one person _I_ could trust.


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Just wanted to thank everyone again for sticking around with this story! :D The reviews, favorites and private messages are appreciated greatly. I try to answer each and every review, so thank you again for the support and encouragement. Espeically when recovering from the flu! This chapter is for Jadesfire22 and her question about Lorana. I hope this satisfies! :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun.

* * *

The Bad News Bunch arrived on the ship when I was halfway through my refreshment. Talk about a way to gain fast indigestion. I should plaster their big smiling faces across a bottle of diet pills or something. Guaranteed to cause nausea! You'll never eat again! Great weight-loss plan inside!

I watched as the walking precursor to my coming bout of anorexia strolled in, making herself at home in my gilded cage. I called it that for a number of reasons. First off, it didn't look like it belonged on a Star Destroyer. For once, my little box looked like a rich hotel room. Heavy wood furnishings were bolted to the floor in a pleasing way (bolted down to keep them from sliding about if the ship was attacked. You know, given that it was a FREAKING WAR SHIP and not a floating hotel), and I even had a window in the sitting room portion that overlooked the stars. The bedroom sported an actual bed as opposed to the metal shelf/bed/torture device I had become used to. And, luxury of all luxuries, the bathroom had a shower with real running water, not one of those creepy vibie things.

Compared to my previous accommodations, I had hit the proverbial jackpot. Too bad the sleek double doors were locked just as tightly as the plain black unadorned door of my former prison.

I pushed my plate away as Lorana-now-called-Threnody walked in. I hadn't wanted to eat in the first place for any number of reasons. But both Pax and Nova had hovered like overeager, blaster-toting nursemaids until I at least put something on my plate. Nova hovered more than Pax did, being that he knew I'd been a prisoner on the Death Star for a while. In good old stormtrooper fashion, he'd logic-looped me into eating something. If only because it was very unclear when my next meal would come. I'd used that same logic on him and forced him to sit at the table with me. Pax, apparently, had drawn the short straw and was performing guard duty outside my door.

So when Lorana graced us with her (unwanted) presence without so much as a knock or warning from Pax announcing her presence, Nova was less than pleased. He muttered something about having a talk with the younger man when it came to serving in such a post. It also gave him a convenient excuse to beat feat out of the room when it was clear that Plain-and-Tall wanted to talk to me alone. Smart man.

"I do not recognize him from the crew manifests," she said slowly, eyeing Nova carefully as slapped his helmet back in place and exited.

"He's mine," I said tartly, and lifted my eyebrows when she lifted hers. Two could play at that little facial expression game! "What, you and the Blues Brothers are the only ones aloud to have lackeys?"

"More surprised that you would involve someone in our plots without first discussing it with the rest of us," she said smoothly, taking a seat at the table and helping herself to a cup of hot tea. "I would have thought such instructions clear without having to be stated."

Ha! Goes to show her what she thinks I should know! Err… wait a minute.

"He's not involved," I said sternly, pushing my food around my plate. Goodbye appetite, hello nausea. Maybe something good would come of all this after all and I'd finally drop that dress size that I'd been trying to work off at the gym for like ever. "He's… Well…"

"I hope he isn't a lover, Aurora."

"Of course not!" I snapped. "Look, I may be a moron by your estimation but I'm not that stupid. I know my part to play in this. I smile when I'm supposed to, cry when I'm supposed to, and generally help make Thrawn look like the hero out of a storybook all so it can confuse the crap out of Lord Vader. I can't do any of that if Thrawn has to publicly execute me for betraying him with another man."

"So why is he here?"

"He's here because… because I saved his life, okay? He feels that he owes me. And I'm not about to let him die on that station. Or Pax, either. He's a good kid."

"I'm assuming Pax is the man outside your door."

"Yes."

"And the name of his counterpart?"

I sighed. If I didn't tell her, she'd just pull it out of my head anyway. "Nova Stihl."

"Ah."

"Ah? Ah? What is with you guys and using that word-bit as if it was the answer to everything. It's the answer to nothing. So stop using it."

She smiled a bit around the lip of her cup, making me want to toss mine into her pretty face. "I wouldn't recommend trying that," she said after she sipped. "Attempting to harm me wouldn't turn out well for you."

"Back in my head again, are we?"

"You seem to leave me little choice. You answer me with evasions each and every time I ask you a direct question."

"Me? You guys are the poster children for not answering a damn thing and making it seem like you have. And while we are on the subject of questions without answers, what the hell happened to you, anyway? You weren't always this forward. You were such a shy, good person when you were a real Jedi."

She jerked at that, and some of her tea slipped off the edge of her cup. "And just how would you know that?"

I tapped my temple. "Vader isn't using me and Leia just for our pretty faces, doll. And don't try to access what he's hidden in here. Not unless you plan on telling your hubby and his bro that you killed me trying to pull it all out. Vader left more than a mess in there. And besides, there you go again avoiding my questions. If this is going to work at all, if we're really going to build a rapport here, one of us is going to have to give a little in the communications department."

She stared at me a long moment, searching my eyes for lord only knew what. And then nodded, surprising me so much that I spilled my tea, too.

"I was shy, yes," she explained, looking down into the brown liquid in her cup. "And then Outbound Flight happened. I know you know some parts of it. Thrass and I survived the crash, but barely. We were broken, dying, mangled beyond recognition. It is said that when a true Jedi knows he or she is about to die, they come to instant peace. I wasn't like that. I was full of bitterness and regret. A lifetime of serving a master that was slowly falling to the Dark Side will do that to you, I suppose. My bitterness grew as my life slipped away, as I felt this noble Chiss slipping away as well. He had given his life for people he did not know, for a race of beings he had known for less than two months. He deserved more than an unmarked grave on a forgotten barren planet. And I thought to myself, if I was only strong enough, if I was only better in my lessons, I could have saved him. I would have done anything to save him. As his life force flickered for what should have been its last, I drew on every ounce of the Force I could to save him. Drew until I felt that awareness become pain and through that pain touched something… more."

Her voice took on a reverent tone, her eyes going slightly wide as if remembering the first time she felt real pleasure. Fanatical almost. I fought not to quietly scooch my chair back from the table, and then run like hell. What was it about the Dark Side that drew all the crazies out of the woodwork? I was afraid to ask, afraid that she would show me. And then I'd be right here with her, Senior Captain Parck, and the rest of the Jim Jones Kool-aid drinking nutbags.

"I wasn't aware that it was the Dark Side until after I had healed both Thrass and myself," She continued, and if she noticed my sudden desire to hold up a cross in front of her face and scream 'Begone Demons!' she didn't show it. "But in that I found the strength I had lacked all my life. The shyness you mentioned, the meekness, the feeling that I would never measure up to the lofty standards of Master C'Baoth all melted away. For through the Dark Side I had done the impossible. I had cheated death."

She looked at me again, and yellow swirled through the brown of her eyes. Uh, there is no Dana, only Zuul, much? "My first reward to myself was to kiss Mitth'ras'safis. My first kiss, you must realize. With the Dark Side rushing through me, I had no fear of his rejection. Even if he told me to never touch him again, such a rebuke would not have hurt. Because for the first time I was truly and utterly free. Free to think and move and act as I saw fit. And I would never again return to the shackles of the Jedi order. Between the two of us, we managed to fix the communications equipment enough to send a pulse transmission to Mitth'raw'nuruodo. By the time we were rescued two weeks later, we had already sworn ourselves to each other. Now, is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Yeah," I said before I could stop myself. She'd pretty much laid it all on the line for me. Candidly, too, which was a lot more than I'd expected. "I mean, I shouldn't have asked. It's your life, I suppose, and I don't think I would have done anything different. I mean, aside from punching C'Baoth in the head until nothing but a fine red paste was left of it when I had the chance. The man was a double douche."

Lorana laughed, and I smiled again before I could stop myself. Talking to her in that moment was like talking to an old girlfriend I hadn't seen in a while. It was companionable, aside from the obvious fact that she was dark-side tainted and about one breakdown shy of going completely schizo bonkers. Other than _that_, we could have been having this little soul-searching session back home on my sofa. It felt that comfortable.

It made me wonder if this safe feeling was coming from me, or if it was something she was projecting my way. And I sighed at the same time she did, knowing she'd caught that thought.

"I want to trust you," I said before she could say anything else. "Trust me, I really do. Okay, that was a poor word choice, but seriously, I just don't see how, Loran—Threnody. Not with the history behind us. All I can trust you to do is look out for Thrass and Thrawn, and nowhere in that does my life figure into the equation."

"I want to trust you, too," she admitted, and then tapped a finger to her lips in thought. "Shall we exchange oaths on the Force, then? Will that suffice?"

"No, not really. Thrawn and Thrass can find more loopeholes in an oath than the President can in his own campaign promises." I was _still_ waiting for my free healthcare, thank you very much!

"Then how about a promise, instead? I promise to find Nadonnis Praji and to fix—if I can—what Vader has done to him. When I do, I will have him transferred to Thrawn's service and through that give him to you."

"You don't get it, do you? I don't want a brainwashed yes-man. I want Nadonnis the way he was, free to make his own decisions. Free to remain in the Empire if he wants to. Or free to leave if that's what he wants instead. He's the only one here that's seen the real me and likes her—I mean _me_ me. And that means more to me than any promise or threat you guys can make."

"Thrass, Thrawn and I have seen the real you. And while I can't speak for them completely, I know that I like who you are. I like Mary Vasquez, even if I don't agree with or understand half of what goes through your head. Thrawn and Thrass, on the other hand, do not trust you overly much."

"Because I've lied to them?"

"Can you blame them for that?"

"No," I said reluctantly, crossing my arms over my chest. "Guess not. And believe it or not, lying to them was probably the best thing I could have done for them. None of you would believe the truth, even if I was free to tell it. Which I'm not, so don't bother trying to dig for it. I don't suppose, in light of our new honest relationship, you can put in a good word for me with them, would you?"

"That depends. Will you answer one more question for me?"

"Shoot."

"Was Thrawn truly your hero?"

I huffed out a laugh at that. "You know, that's the third time he's asked that. Twice in person and now once through you. I take it that's gotten under his skin for some reason, hasn't it?"

A genuinely beautiful smile touched her lips. "Yes. And it's irritating him that you have yet to answer."

"Or the fact that his brilliant mind can't deduce the answer on his own, huh?"

The smile grew. "You know him so well. Which is what makes you perfect for this assignment. Which also irritates him further."

"Sugar, I've made a career out of irritating the piss out of people. What makes him so freaking special as to be immune to it?"

"If I had to guess, I suspect he's the first one that can and will kill you for it if you continue."

Well, that stole some of my mirth and dark satisfaction. "There is that, yes. Can I ask you one more question?"

"As you so interestingly put it, shoot."

"Why Threnody? Lorana is a completely beautiful name."

She shrugged a shoulder. "The Emperor gave it to me upon my swearing my oath of allegiance to him."

"So it's your Sith name?"

"In a manner of speaking, I suppose it is. Though I choose to think of it as my rebirth. Lorana was fragile and shy. Threnody is not. Now, I believe we are running out of time to get you ready. I took the liberty of having a wardrobe made for you. You can't be seen on the Grand Admiral's arm in the same black dress day after day. It would make you both look weak, that he could not provide for you and you would not let him. So I have taken care of that little problem. Here."

The gown she handed me was cut similar to the one I had on, with a jeweled neckline instead of the off-the-shoulder look I was currently sporting. And even though the gown had a full skirt, it was shorter than the one I had on. Meant to fall around my ankles instead of the floor. And it didn't have a train! I could walk in this, I realized, without having to worry about falling on my face. Did I mention it was a lovely yellow color, soft enough to make my hair gleam like gold against it?

"Wait," I said when the girlie-shinnies had worn off. "Get me ready for what?"

She smiled like Thrawn did when he was about to tell me something I could have easily lived the rest of my life in utter contentment without knowing. "It's performance time."

* * *

When the turbolift doors opened onto the bridge, Lorana and I sauntered arm-in-arm across the command walkway, soft smiles on our mouths as if we had just exchanged a private joke. I suppose in a way we had, and I was the walking punch line. We were just two lovely ladies out for a walk across the command section of a ship powerful enough to blow up a small moon, never mind the fact that she was a Sith Jedi and I had enough info in my head to level the entire Lucas-verse, essentially making us two of the more dangerous pieces in play in this massive chess game the Emperor was playing.

And behind us walked Nova and Pax in their brilliantly shined armor.

And our destination? Why none other than Lord Thrass and Grand Admiral Thrawn. They stood at the end of the walkway, quietly discussing something with Captain Parck. That is, until we glided past them, murmuring softly to one another and coming to a stop in front of one of the large viewports. If you absolutely have to know what we were murmuring about to each other, I'll tell you. She was coaching me on how not to throw up, how to act like a lady, and how to reign in my temper. It sounded something along the lines of this:

Me: I want to throw up. I can't do this. I can't pretend to love him.

Her: Yes, you can. Just breathe. Smile. Seriously, Aurora, smile. Or they'll think—no, stop. That's too much. You look deranged.

Me: Told you I can't do this! I'm afraid I'm going to trip and fall on my face.

Her: The gown is short on purpose. You can't trip on it.

Me: Lady, look who you're talking to. I can trip on air. Trust me. Been there, done that.

Her: Think of something pleasant. Let that be your focus.

Me: Now I'm thinking of Leia, because she gave me that same advice. So not helping! Man, I'm so going to blow chunks any minute now.

Her: Then think of something sarcastic and dark. You seem to be at your best when you are scathingly irreverent.

Me: Sarcastic and dark? Like…

Her: Oh, stars, Aurora. I did not need a mental image of that. Now I may, as you say, blow chunks.

Me: Number one, get out of my head, sunshine. And number two, don't you dare. Or I will, too. And that won't get us anywhere.

Her: How did this conversation turn into you coaching me, all of a sudden?

"I'm just that lucky, I guess," I said, smirking at her. And oddly enough feeling better, too. Maybe there was something to this thinking darkly thing. Well, at least for me at any rate. Lorana still looked a little ill. Served her right for lurking in my head.

"Luck appears to be the theme of the evening," Thrawn said, coming up to stand behind me.

I leaned back against him before I knew what I was doing, and when his arm came up across my waist, it felt natural. Like he had done this a thousand times. The sigh that escaped my lips was also genuine, much to my internal horror. Pleased to feel him, to take in his scent. The fingertips of his other hand traced so delicately along my cheek, turning my face upwards towards his. I opened my eyes… and the complete lack of genuine warmth in his as he pretended to gaze so lovingly down into mine was like someone throwing a bucket of ice down my spine.

Yup, I was back to wanting to vomit again. If I did, I was going to make sure it was all over Nova and Pax, too. I knew I shouldn't have eaten anything!

"You play your part well," Thrawn whispered. "For just a moment, I could truly believe that you love me."

My smile was as sweet and loving as a flaming stick in the eye. "Die screaming," I said cheerfully, turning in his arm to rest my hand gently on his chest. "And the next time you want to ask me something, do it yourself, beloved. Don't send Threnody to do it for you."

"I seem to recall warning you about dictating to me," His smile was still in place, still alluring and tantalizing, the fake memories in my head all but begging me to kiss him. But those glowing red eyes froze me before I could try. "Careful, my Princess. Our cease-fire will only carry your insolence for so long."

I rose up on tip-toes anyway, emboldened by Lorana's story about shedding fear and meekness. Planting the most delicate and respectful kiss I could on his lips. Something I had seen once in a 1940s flick where a woman was saying goodbye to her navy husband in front of his crew. He indulged it, going so far as to incline his head and meet me halfway.

"What do I have to lose?" I whispered back against his lips. "You've made it clear that you own me for lying to you. What more can you take from me?"

"There is a distinct difference between being owned and being a slave, my Princess. Though I doubt you appreciate or understand that difference. It appears I must teach you," his hand slipped beneath my chin as I eased back down, keeping my face tilted towards his. Gentle as compared to the last time. "The lessons for you will be quite harsh, I believe. However, I think I can make something useful of you when they are complete."

I snorted gently. "My professors have been saying the same thing for years, and not one has succeeded to date. Good luck with that, beloved."

His smile cut though my bravado. "And with that, we circle back to the theme of this evening."

"And in good time," Thrass commented, drawing our attention back to the viewports. "The battle of Yavin has begun."

* * *

I was beginning to learn that Thrass had a talent for understatement. His so carelessly uttered words were nothing compared to the crap storm that played out before our eyes. Ships came pouring out of the Yavin base like angry hornets from a kicked nest. Or like sane people running from their lives from the movie theatre after being tricked into watching any of the Twilight movies. I shuddered. That was two hours of my life I was never going to get back. If my roomie was here, I would punch her in the eye. Again.

Yes, she'd tricked me into going to the first one. What, like I had time in my life to know what it was about? I work nights for crying out loud. Most bookstores aren't exactly open at 4am when I'm finished closing the bar. How was I supposed to know what sort of eye-raping drivel was going to play across that screen? She'd said vampires, and I'd said I'm game. Vamps were my second favorite fangirl squee magnet, but I still liked mine, you know, dark, tragic and not sparkling like gems unless they had just finished rolling in diamond dust. Which could happen. I mean, you never know who's going to set up a diamond cutting station over the place you've chosen for your eternal evil slumber. Hey, it could happen!

Okay, okay. That was a stretch, even for me. But it was the best I could do on such short notice, especially given that I was thinking of anything and everything in my power to blot out what was happening before my eyes.

TIE-fighters and X-wings were all smashing together outside the _Admonitor's_ viewports like a bag of Skittles hurled at a movie screen. (Which, yes, I did in fact do. After screaming in horror at the abominable acting in that Twilight movie. Just… blech.) Still I watched, eyes riveted to the nightmare like it was a train wreck. The fighting, not the Twilight movie. Just felt the need to clarify that. I was vaguely aware that I had stepped forward, my hands gripping the lip of the viewport.

"You aren't going to stop this, are you?" I asked my would-be adoring protector.

"No," he replied, stepping up beside me. "I have orders not to interfere in the main battle."

"If you tell me they came from Lord H—Vader," I corrected swiftly. "I'm going to be very disappointed in you, beloved."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Feel however you like, my Princess."

I leaned forward until my forehead touched the viewport, bouncing my head lightly on it a few times in my frustration. Wishing it was Vader's face and that I was skimming it like a stone over a pond of glass shards, rusted nails, and any other sort of unpleasantness. The fact that Evil Personified had ordered Thrawn not to participate in this, to let so many people die uselessly when he knew Thrawn could save them and win the battle swiftly—

I spun around. "Didn't—" I began, and then quickly lowered my voice at the way his eyebrows lifted. And, you know, at the way the crewers around us had suddenly looked up from their tasks to stare at me. Apparently I'd started in louder than I thought. That's what happened when I got excited. I got loud. Sue me. "Didn't you tell me that Vader was _trying_ to take over the Imperial Navy? Key word here being trying. You're acting like he's already in charge."

He reached out a hand, deliberately plucking a lock of hair from my forehead and smoothing it behind my ear. "You really had to smack your adorable forehead into the viewport to reach that conclusion?"

Adorable wha…? Was he being serious, or was this more of the playacting? Like me calling him beloved and him calling me his princess. But for a second there, it sounded like he was sincere in calling me adorable. Reminded me a bit of Praji that way, like when he called me his beautiful idiot. It sorta took the sting out of the insult part.

That little smile was back on his lips, and I knew it was because he'd realized how easy it had been to distract me. That I'd just taken a little tour through my own rambling headspace trying to figure out if he was sincere or not.

"You did that on purpose," I accused.

The smile widened a fraction. "Of course. Should I not compliment my lady?"

Okay, that time he was definitely playacting. The smug sarcasm in that tone was unmistakable.

I smiled, too. Sugar-sweet enough to knock a diabetic into a coma. "I hate you."

"And here I thought I was your hero."

"Hah! So not answering that one right now, pal. Just stew on it."

His hands touched my shoulders, a gentle caress as he turned me back to the viewports. "If you persist in annoying me, I could make our time together very unpleasant. We still have a long conversation to look forward to later."

Yeeesh. I'd almost forgotten about that. I didn't know how long I could keep up my anger when he'd just sit there and be smooth and logical and infuriating and yummy and… I was leaning against him before I knew it, his arm back around my waist, my head tucked beneath his chin. A loving display for all to see, a perfect model of what any man in uniform wished for himself: a good rank, a command of his own, and an adoring loving woman on his arm to share it with.

"Is this enough of a show?" I asked, gritting my teeth behind my sweet smile. "Have we played the part of lovers enough to make every tongue on this ship waggle back to Vader?"

"Possibly," he replied.

"Will you at least allow Threnody to fix my memories of you? This is infuriating. And it can't be any better for you. You hate me. At the very least I'd be the last choice of a person to fill your bed."

"That depends. Why should I reward you when you have been less than accommodating?"

"For your sake, I hope you're not implying you and me and the horizontal mambo when you say 'accommodating,' bucko."

His head tilted down a fraction, staring at me. "Does everything with you revolve around sex and sarcasm?"

I started to say 'yes' and then look at him like he was the stupid one. All you had to do was look at any commercial on TV to know that sex sells. Plain-and-Tall sent me one of her withering looks, and I closed my mouth again. I was supposed to be earning back some measure of trust, some bit of control over my life in regards to what he was planning. Antagonizing him wasn't going to help me do that. Even when I soooo wanted to! He'd even left me the perfect opening!

I swallowed that retort, fighting to keep my smile in place. To look like I was in love.

"Very good," he said into the silence. "You are learning. Sometimes it is better to leave a challenge unanswered when such actions can win you other victories later."

"Does that mean you'll fix my head?"

"No," he replied. "One swallowed retort is not enough to earn my trust."

"It would be if you knew how hard that was to not reply," I pouted. And then something else clicked. Okay, two other things. Must be my day for epiphanies or something. Three in one day. Who would have thought? "Is this part of you teaching me the difference between slavery and… uh… slavery-but-not-slavery? And you never answered my question about Lord Vader."

Hah! I wasn't as stupid as he thought. I was starting to catch on rather swiftly to his little distraction tricks. The polite cough from Lorana stole all the superiority that moment of brilliance gave me. So did the look on her face. My shoulders slumped. My brilliance feeling suddenly as bright as a three-watt lightbulb.

"Yes, and yes," he replied and placed a finger over my lips, eyes narrowing as he stared out the viewport over my head. "Captain Parck, please bring the ship around so that the main docking bays are towards the fighting. Have the tractorbeam crewers stand ready."

"Yes, sir," came the swift reply.

"Really," I said when he lowered his finger. "I'm standing here trying to have a heart to… well, whatever you call that frozen thing in your chest that pumps your blood… conversation with you and you're discussing tactics?"

"We are in the middle of a large battle, Princess. Should I not?"

"Uh, yeah, you shouldn't. Didn't Lord Vader order you to stay out of it?"

"He ordered me to not take part in the _main_ battle," Thrawn said, tucking me back under his arm so we both had an unobstructed view of the death around us. So he could silence me swiftly as needed. I was learning _that _about him, too. "That is completely different from telling me to stay out of it. You should learn to pay closer attention when being spoken to."

"I listen! When it's worth listening to. Usually. Sometimes."

"Particularly only when you hear the sound of your own voice?"

"Have I told you recently how much I absolutely loathe you?"

The dragon chuckled at that, pressing his lips to the crown of my head. "What beautiful things you say to me, my princess."

"Oh, just wait until we are alone, beloved. I've got plenty more where those came from, and more creative ones, too," I snarled softly, plastering that fake adoring smile back on my lips. "So what's your move then, ace? How are you going to get around Lord H—Vader's orders to stay out of this?"

"It is simple, really. Observe," he gestured to the exploding points of light, the criss-crossing of green and red turbolazer fire. "Do you see these ships disengaging from the combat?"

I tried to see what he was pointing at. It all looked like tiny micromachine toys on crack, zipping about too fast for me to tell them apart. And I didn't want to, if I was to be honest. Every time a flash of light appeared, it meant that someone was dead. It really didn't matter to me at this point if it was Rebel or Imperial. All my eyes registered was that a person was just rendered into frozen particles of meat in the vacuum of space.

But try as I might to avoid it, I did see a pattern emerging. "Yeah… I can see that. Huh. Guess they are the lucky ones that get to live."

This time he did smile, and it wasn't pleasant. "They get to live for a while at any rate. Captain," he raised his voice slightly. "Those ships in cluster four will be in tractor beam range shortly. I want them captured alive."

My breath froze as a group of x-wings swung into range and particle beams lanced out one by one, capturing the retreating fighters neatly and efficiently. Was Luke in one of those? Were things going that horribly wrong that—

Wait a second. Wait just one freaking second! Why was the _Admonitor_ here at all? I didn't recall the presence of a star destroyer during the battle of Yavin. And how had the _Admonitor_ arrived ahead of us at all? As far as I knew, Vader and Tarkin had decided to cowboy this whole show, riding up on their prey in a giant "SURPRISE! CANDY GRAM!" maneuver. They wouldn't have told anyone about this, not with the giant risk they had taken allowing the Princess to escape on the Falcon with just a tracking device. So why…

… a dread rose up around me, and I found my hands pressing to my chest. "This is my fault," I whispered, kneels nearly buckling.

Thrawn's arm was tight around me, holding me up. "My princess, are you alright?"

I shook my head, and then stared up at him with more horror than I'd ever thought possible. "Leia… Leia told you to be here, didn't she? She somehow got a message to Vader about Yavin, and he relayed that part to you, didn't he? You've been working with them the whole time. Oh fuck me… oh fuck us all."

"Language, my lady," he chided. "Yes, Lord Vader told me some of what he learned from his daughter. But not all of it, and judging by your reaction, he hasn't informed me of a fraction of what either of you know. I am not, as you put it, working with Lord Vader in whatever political power play he's initiating. He merely asked me to be here as a sort of fallback plan."

"Fallback… for what?"

"To ensure that the Death Star is destroyed if the Rebels fail at doing so," he lifted a hand, and I heard the familiar _clack-clack_ of stormtroopers marching forward. "Take my Princess back to her quarters. The battle has upset her and I would see her rested and recovered."

"Yes, sir," Nova's voice came through the mask filter, his armored arm reaching out to collect me. My legs too wobbly to hold me. Too lost in my own horror.

As we crossed the bridge I heard the tractor beam officer calling out the numbers of the X-Wings captured. Red three, Red four, Blue two… and Red Two. Luke was still out there, his number being Red Five. But Red Two had belonged to another famous beloved character—Wedge Antilles. Thrawn had captured Wedge. I glanced at Nova and then at Pax.

And couldn't believe the plan that was forming in my brain. It was cracked up enough that it might just work.


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: Thanks to everyone who wished me well during my bout with the flu! I appreciated it greatly, and also the reviews, favorites and messages! :D Always a help to know that people enjoy this. Apologies all around if this chapter seems to ramble a bit (a lot really) at the beginning. It was mostly written under a heavy codine-cough-syurp haze. But this is dedicated to the rebel-loving Wedge fans out there. I had to chop it in half as it was literally over 9,000 words when I was done with it. So this is part one. I hope you enjoy. Just remember, you asked for it! ;)

Disclaimer: I own nothing but Pax. Mary owns Mary. Disney owns everything Disney. And people own whatever other references (Ghost Busters, Macgyver, V, Rambo, etc.) that they own. I'm not making any money from this. This is purely for fun. Please do not sue!

* * *

I had one thing to say about Star Destroyer corridors: no two were exactly alike. And thank my lucky stars for that!

There were subtle differences in each hallway, as if the design of each deck was left up to new architect (or a single architect with multiple personalities). Granted, all the differences here had a purpose, each room and corridor and such designed to maximize efficiency rather than take up space. But efficiency didn't necessarily lend itself to aesthetics. Hence, it really did look like someone hired Ivo Shandor (you know, the crazy Cult of Gozer dude that designed the interdimensional yet gorgeously chic building in Ghost Busters?) and decided it would help in his rehabilitative therapy to let each distinct slice of insanity have a say in the floor plans.

Just for the record, if I happened to turn a corner and run into a demon dog-looking thing going by the name of Zuul that wanted to take over my body, I was going to have to hand it a num ber and tell it the possession line starts to the left. As in get right behind Vader and Praji and Thrawn and Thrass and Threnody (and seriously, what's with that group and names that began with a Th? It's called originality, people! Use it!) and everyone else that clung to the notion that they owned me.

It honestly wouldn't have surprised me if that was the case—the hiring of Shandor, not the demon-dog-possession thing. His Imperial Nastiness seemed to have a fondness for the mentally unstable.

One only had to look at the creature called Ysanne Isard, or "Insane Lizard" as I'd called her when I read about her in the novels, to find proof of that. I thought it better to call her that rather than Iceheart. Because, in my not so humble opinion, that chickie may have looked like she was human, but she wasn't. Not by a long shot. Wasn't warm-blooded, either. No one that claimed membership in the human race could have possibly done what she did to people. Even Hitler drew the line at some things.

Ysanne was a new strain of dang-nasty-evil all her own. Reptilian, cold-blooded almost, in what she did to people to make them into her little puppets. Like those aliens in "V." You know, the miniseries from 1983?

I had to wonder, as the turbolift took my little party back to my gilded cage, if the author that created Ysanne had watched "V: the Final Battle" as a kid. I'd be willing to bet that Ysanne's original name was Diana, named after the wicked hive queen in that show, but lawyers and copywrites and other forms of red-tape-wrapped buttcheeses forced him to change it. Diana was a cold-blooded, insane, torture loving, lizard-type alien from the deepest recesses of outer space hell. So was it a really difficult leap of logic for Ysanne's name to come into being?

Diana = Insane Lizard = Ysanne Isard. Tell me I'm wrong, I dare you.

Bet that the next time you read anything about Ysanne Isard, you're going to giggle and call her Insane Lizard, too. You're welcome.

Anywho, it was impossible to get lost on the _Admonitor_ as easy as it was to be lost on the Death Star. Which was going to make it that much easier for my plan to work. For one thing, the doors weren't spaced evenly apart. For another, this place had a feeling of … purpose to it. Of originality and, believe it or not, heart. Sculpted from the ravings of a madman who could have twenty-eight different conversations with himself or not, this floating citadel of death was designed with people in mind. I could see myself living on one of these things and not breaking a sweat, treating it like a skyscraper in New York. A flying skyscraper knocked over on its side, but still…

Unlike the Death Star, which had all the warmth and personality of an antiseptic mental institution. Everything there had been too uniform, too depressing. Like it was made to crush the creativity from your soul and turn you into a mindless drone long before Imperial Doctrine could do its worst. That thought made me shudder. Considering many in the Imperial Fleet had thought the Death Star was nothing more than the Emperor's attempt to micromanage the whole operation, I could see why he would have designed it that way. Uncreative, soulless, dreamless people were a lot easier to control and mind-wonky from a distance.

Thank you Never Ending Story for that lesson!

"Now if I could just get out of this never ending nightmare."

"Pardon, Your Highness?" Pax asked.

Ooops. Shouldn't have said that out loud. Another sign that I was rattled by Thrawn's little last minute revelation, aside from the tangent into spaceship design and alien lizard names. Seriously, Vader wanted to see the Death Star destroyed? But why? Did it have anything to do with what he'd learned from me? Or was he doing this to win points with Leia? Was it _Leia's_ idea that he had adopted?

Or had it been his purpose all along, which was why he took the two most ridiculously inept pilots in the entire Imperial Navy with him into the trenches to cover him? I mean, who in their right mind takes along the man that isn't going to hold onto the control stick and who rams his TIE into yours at the most inopportune moment? Wasn't that sort of one of the first lessons laid out in the TIE-fighter Owner's Manual?

Step one: Hold onto control stick.

Step two: Keep your eyes on where you're going.

Step Three: Don't run into shit.

Step Four: For everything else, see Steps One through Three.

Seemed easy enough to me.

"I'm cool, Pax," I replied. "Don't worry so much, okay?"

"Yes, Your Highness. I will see to it that the temperature in your suite is adjusted appropriately for your comfort."

My what? Why was he talking temperatures like he was a living, breathing protocol droid? I was certainly capable of figuring out whatever passed for an A/C unit on this ship and could take care of… Oh, now I got it. _Cool_, as in I was okay. Obviously he thought I meant _cool_ as in I was cold. I rubbed a hand over my forehead, wondering idly if Plain-and-Tall had brought any of that candy-water crap with her when she brought me my new clothes. I was going to get a headache from all the Earth-to-Basic translations.

"Hey, Pax?" I asked as we entered my suite, Nova peeling away from us and working on the little communication station on the desk. Giving us a bit of privacy. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

"Of course, Your Highness."

"How do you feel about what happened to Alderaan?"

He hesitated a moment, and I got the impression that he was looking down behind his helmet, searching for a diplomatic way to answer me. As if afraid that he would say the wrong thing and I would call him a traitor, or order him to interrogation, or some sick Insane Lizard type ordeal. Man, if I had the chance, I was going to punch that woman in the head. And not just for murdering her own father so she could lead the Imperial Intelligence Network, or for bedding the Emperor (seriously, how she found that melted candle-face attractive was beyond me. But then again, some lizard species were vicious enough to try and eat their mates after they were finished gettin' busy, so who knew?), but because of the twisted things she did to make people do what she wanted.

And for the rumors of the twisted things that she did with the Emperor's blessing. The obvious fear in Pax at what should have been a simple question set my teeth on edge and had me balling up a fist behind my back. Thrawn had reminded me once that I wasn't in America anymore, that our Constitution that promised things like not being forced to incriminate yourself, or the ever popular FREEDOM OF SPEECH did not exist out here.

Never mind Lizard, I was going to punch Palpatine for that one. Sarcasm was everyone's god-given right. Wrap me in a toga and paint my face green, cus I was all about the Lady Liberty on that one.

"Don't sweat it, Pax. I shouldn't have asked," I said when I could unclench my jaw. "Sorry about that."

"No, Your Highness, do not apologize. I apologize for taking so long to come up with an answer. I… am not sure how to answer you."

"How about we start with you taking off that helmet, and then following that up with a radical little concept I like to call honesty?"

He did this nifty trick where he somehow saluted with the blaster and then tucked it into the corner of his elbow at in the same motion. His now empty left hand reached up, undid the seals around his neck, and popped off the dreaded jerkface mask. Lovely violet eyes stared out at me, seeming more vibrant against the deep dark coffee of his skin. He looked to be in his mid to late twenties (not another kid-like blue-eyed farmboy! YAY!). His upper lip pulled up slightly on the right side due to a hairline scar, making it seem like he was perpetually smirking at something.

I couldn't help myself when I smiled. Just like he couldn't help himself when he blushed at my smile. Okay, maybe he wasn't an innocent farmboy, but he _was_ dazzled by the "Princess" part of my name. And that made it so he couldn't see past the fancy title to the real me. It was disappointing, but not blameworthy. I mean, I got all giggly and blushy when I saw Kate or William on TV. So I wasn't ignorant of how a royal title could cloud judgment.

I just didn't have to like it.

I flopped down onto one of the overstuffed chairs in a very unprincess like way, slouching a bit and offering the one next to me to him. "See, this is better, isn't it?"

Those amethyst eyes tinted with a touch of worry at my gesture, and I found myself lifting my hands up in surrender. "Seriously, Pax, I'm not hitting on you. I've no plans to betray the Admiral like that. I'm not interrogating you or attempting to seduce you. I just want to talk. It's not like I have a lot of options right now for conversation, true?"

Some of the stiffness left his shoulders, and his smirk turned to a small smile as he sat. "True," he echoed. "May I ask something of you, Your Highness?"

"Go for it. Actually, how about this? For every question you answer honestly, I have to do the same when you ask me. Sound good?"

He pondered that a moment, training no doubt having him instinctively checking for a trap in the arrangement. Finally he nodded. "Okay. Why are you asking me about Alderaan?"

"Because Alderaan was my home," I said at length, meeting his stare. Okay, it was a lie. But was it _really _a lie if I was pretending to be Princess Aurora and there was a mountain of evidence to show that Alderaan was _her_ home? "And I want to know if everyone believes I came from a planet full of traitors."

For a wonder, he broke eye contact first. Maybe I was getting better at this Princess Stare thingy. Or maybe my intense desire to find out if he was Pro-Empire and down with the whole blow-up-everything-agenda that was Tarkin's mind-set just made my stare that much more penetrating. I hoped, really and truly hoped, that wasn't the case. Because I really could use his help in my plan.

"No, I don't think everyone believes that. But there had to have been a reason for the Empire to have…," he flicked a glance at me, a touch of sorrow in his expression. "I am sorry, Your Highness, but it must be the truth. There had to have been something horrible on your homeworld, something that threatened the peace and security of the Empire, for its… for what happened to it to have happened."

He stood abruptly, probably for the way my face must have fallen at his words. He was loyal to the Empire to his core, believed in what it was doing. He wasn't going to help us. And that sucked in so many ways.

"I have offended you," he said formally, going a little pale around the lips. "For that I am sorry, Your Highness."

"No, no, it's fine," I said, trying to soothe him. Yeah, that's right. Me trying to soothe another trained killer who should be shooting at me all things considered. Too weird, I tell ya. But I couldn't hate him. He was, at his heart, a good man. A misguided good man, but a good man nonetheless. "Pax, sit down. You didn't offend me. If I was offended, I would be up in your grill reading you the riot act, sugar. Trust me, I'm perfectly capable of defending myself—verbally anyway. So park it, son. We aren't done chatting."

"Actually, Your Highness, I am afraid I must interject," Nova said, stepping away from the terminal. "I attempted to adjust your temperature settings per Corporal Paxton's suggestion. There appears to be a malfunction in the controls. Corporal Paxton, one of us should report to the maintenance bay in order to see that the request is properly handled."

Paxton had never looked more grateful in his entire life to be sent on an errand so far beneath his station. His helmet was snapped back in place and he was out the door before he'd finished issuing his 'yes, sir' back to a superior officer.

"Was it something I said?" I asked Nova, blinking at the door and the faint dust trails I imagined there. As if Pax had become the Road Runner in the bat of an eye. "Bad breath?"

Nova smirked as he took off his helmet. "Hardly, Rori. We need to move quickly if we're going to get off this ship."

"So there isn't an issue with the environmental controls," I said, rising to my feet at his prompting. "You're using Pax's misunderstanding as an excuse to get rid of him."

"Absolutely," he nodded without missing a beat. "But it isn't going to take a technician long to realize that. Are you ready to go?"

"Where?"

He smiled, and I wasn't certain if I liked that or not. But one thing I did know for certain was that he wasn't going to like what I had to say next.

* * *

"I can't believe we are doing this," Nova muttered.

"Believe it, sugarsnap. I'm not leaving without him."

"He's a rebel, Rori."

"Oh, really? Gee, I must have missed that memo. Because what we're doing right now is _so_ in line with Imperial law. Wanna tell me what that makes _us_? And if you say good loyal citizens, I'm going to punch you in the eye."

"For a Aderaanian pacifist, you seem to have an overabundant fondness for threatening to punch people."

"Come closer and say that again."

"It's impossible for me to get close to you without breaking the laws of physics."

"Well, today's our day for breaking laws, so what's one more added to that list?"

He scowled, but fell silent. Not that he had any room to argue with that point. Or move. Or breathe really. Considering we were both wedged into a crawlspace meant for pixies or something. Seriously, it was that small. But wiggling through it was better than the alternative. I peeked out through the vents at the "alternative" below us, watching the squad of well-armed and well armored men milling about the detention area. There were at least ten by my count.

And seated in the center of that group of white were five men in the worst eye-wrenching orange colored jumpsuits in the galaxy. It was like the Rebellion had gone to the thrift store and bought all the reject fabric to create their flight suits. Seriously, just yuck. It reminded me of the time the fashionistas back home tried to tell everyone that orange was the new pink. Everywhere I looked, there was nothing but a sea of orange. Like everyone had decided it was freaking cool to look like oopa loompas.

And yes, I hummed the oompa loompa song to anyone that I saw in that dastardly color. It was better than pulling a PETA and tossing buckets of red paint on anyone I saw wearing it. No jail time for singing a song at someone. Though I did earn a surprising amount of visits from police officers, warning me to stop displaying moments of irrationality at the rest of the neighborhood. Thankfully I hadn't had any of Ruth's special brownies in the house at the time!

Anyway, the Great Orange Depression vanished about two months after it began, and that designer had never been heard from since. I gazed down at the Great White Oppression going on beneath us, and puffed a breath to move some of my hair out of my face.

"What do you think?" I asked Nova.

"That I'd rather stick to my original plan," Sergeant Rain All Over My Parade whispered grimly. "Your things are still aboard that shuttle. There's also a spare set of armor, a few blasters, and some rations in the emergency kit. There's still time to make it to the landing bay. In the confusion of tractoring in those rebel fighters, we can slip out unnoticed."

"Great. I like that plan. Just as soon as we pick up Wedge, we'll be on our way. And newsflash, dearheart, those aren't my things. They're what Threnody thinks I should wear to impress Thrawn."

He let that last part go, though with some difficulty. As if he was finding it hard to believe I wasn't willing to try and impress Thrawn, myself. "Why is it so important to you to rescue that one rebel and not the others? Is he your brother or something?"

I waited for my tongue to do its usual run-away-from-what-I-really-want-to-say thing. When it didn't I blinked slightly in surprise. "He's important to the future of the Rebellion. Without him, this whole Empire thing is going to keep on crushing the life out of planets and stuff. We need him. He wasn't supposed to have been captured. And if we can rescue the others, then that's great. Trust me, I don't want to see anyone left behind to undergo what I went through. But… sometimes we just have to save the ones we can, I guess."

I could feel him staring at me, his expression somewhere between shock, dark disappointment, and utter frustration. No doubt he was playing with his Force powers, now that he knew what they were, trying to sense the truth of what I was saying. And it was the truth. Without Wedge Antilles at the head of Rogue Squadron, who knew what Insane Lizard would have done to the galaxy? I doubt even Thrawn would have been able to reign her in, had Wedge and crew not managed to help shut her down hard. Stupid cold blooded Iceheart. I really bet she was a lizard beneath her skin!

He ground his teeth, and I took that for the resignation that it was. "I don't suppose you had any dreams about this situation, huh?" I asked hopefully.

"No."

"How about a grenade?"

"And how would that save your friend? The blast radius would kill him, not to mention us."

"Hey, don't look at me like that. I'm not the tactician here. But it seems I'm the only one trying to come up with ideas."

"I've already told you the idea with the best chance of survival for us both."

I tried to elbow him, which resulted in us both rocking slightly in our sardine impersonation. As in packed in like. "Not helping, sugar. And time's wasting."

He sighed. More like groaned behind his teeth, and inched closer to the grate, craning his neck to get a better perspective on the room at large. "There," he said at last, pointing towards a section of the wall that looked like every other section of the wall to me. "That panel there controls lighting, cameras, and communications. If we could somehow knock that out, the confusion may be enough for us to slip in and rescue your friend."

"He's not my friend. He doesn't know me from Eve. Which may make this trickier."

"Who is Eve? Is she another rebel that we are going to rescue?"

It was my turn to grind my teeth. Did no one know anything in this universe! "Just shut it, Nova. I'll explain it all to you eventually. Get your amazing mind back into the game. What do we need to knock out that main panel?"

His eyebrows drew down in concentration, gazing at that panel intensely. "Aside from an electrical overload, I'm not certain. If we had something small and flat, like a disk or something, we may be able to wedge it into the side casing. It would have to be a super conductive metal, though, and—"

"Will this do?"

He stared down at the small silvery medallion that I held in my hand. You know, from that belt of medallions stamped with the Imperial symbol that Lord Hater thought was the perfect accessory for my servant gown. Plain-and-Tall had insisted that I wear it with the yellow dress she'd given me. Like flashing my loyalty around to prove that I was, well, loyal to the Empire. He took it, eyes wide.

"Where did you get this?"

"A gift from Lord Hater—I mean Vader. Why?"

"Do you know what this is?"

"Uh, other than an annoyingly heavy bad fashion accessory, no. What's with you and the twenty-questions routine? Will it work or not?"

"This is Aargauian platinum, Rori. It's rare and extremely expensive. This one disk could buy us our own ship and leave enough left over to fill it full of supplies."

"Then it's lucky I have a whole belt full of them, isn't it? Just tell me it's conductive."

For once, the look of we're-all-gonna-die-horribly left his features. "It's _highly_ conductive."

"Then tell me you're a good shot, Nova. Cus I have a feeling we are only going to get one chance at this."

I wasn't quite certain what happened after the coin found its way into the main control panel. Nova had done some Macgyver-worthy fiddling with a blaster power pack, a length of tubing, and bubble gum. Okay, not bubble gum, but that was usually a component in any Macgyver-esque invention, wasn't it? Or was that duct tape? Whatever it was that he did, that little bit of magic metal flew from the air vent like a bat on fire and wedged itself so hard into the panel that I was surprised it didn't shatter on impact. After that, there was the required explosion of sparks, confused babbling, and then a bunch of darkness.

Nova chose that perfect moment to kick in the grate of our hiding place, tumbling out like he was Rambo or something. Spitting blaster fire from two hand-held weapons instead of his usual E-11 rifle.

The Rebels weren't ones to look a gift horse in the mouth, so they got with the program the moment Nova started dropping folks like bad habits. When the dust and smoke settled, all ten jerkfaces were on the ground, and two of the rebel pilots. From the way Wedge and the others looked at them, those two weren't ever getting up again.

Nova reached up his hands to catch me as I dangled—yet again—like a princess shaped sun-catcher from the vent. I wasn't about to just leap out of the ceiling like Nova had. Did I look like I was trained in combat rolling or whatever it was that he just did? I failed gymnastics in middle school and subsequently every PE class up until I graduated High School. The fact that I could trip on nothing also figured in to my decision to dangle rather than pretend I was some sort of hero.

No matter how I was dressed or what title they called me, I was still the comic relief. Sarcasm wasn't a superpower (trust me, I checked). And just because I had instituted a plan to save a future Rebel Hero didn't automatically qualify me for a secret identity and admission into the Halls of Justice. Did it?

Come to think of it, didn't I have a secret identity now?

Nova was better at catching Princess-shaped falling objects than Chewie. And for once I delicately landed in his arms instead of flailing all the way down. Of course, it was then that I noticed that Nova wasn't smiling. Which wasn't exactly normal for the guy that had just caught the damsel in distress after saving a future hero. There should have at least been some sort of flirty joke, right? I felt so gipped.

Until I noticed that Nova's blasters weren't holstered at his side. They were nestled neatly in the grip of the two unknown orange-suited oompa loompas.

And pointed at us.

"Okay, guys, let's everybody calm the freak down here," I squeaked, heart leaping into my throat. "We're on your side. We're here to rescue you."

Their gratitude came in the form of two pairs of binders tossed at our feet. Well didn't that just prove that no good deed goes unpunished. We were about to be _kidnapped_ by the heroes. By the people we were trying to rescue! Didn't that go against the Good Guy Code or something?!

"We'll believe that once we're away from this ship," Angry Pilot No. One said, motioning for Nova to put me down and make with the binding. "Now, put those on. Both of you."

The look Nova gave me as he set me on my feet wasn't friendly. And I could see the thoughts in his eyes. If he bent down to pick up those binders, he was going to come up fighting, most likely killing everyone that pointed a weapon at him. Nova was deadlier without a blaster than with one, his hand-to-hand skills unmatched. Or so the novel had said. The fact that he had his arms full of me was the only thing that had kept these two men breathing for this long.

"Woah, hold up here," I tried again. "Did you miss the moment where I said we were on your side? Let's start over, shall we? How about some introductions? I'm Princess Aurora Sorensen, and this is N—"

"Aurora Soresen?" Wedge cut in, turning swiftly from where he had been kneeling at the side of one of his comrades, his hand paused in the act of closing the man's eyes for the final time. His were sad and angry when they met mine, but not rage-filled enough to shoot first and ask questions later. "Luke Skywalker mentioned you, that you were stuck on the Death Star. He was pretty tore up about it."

I swallowed hard. "I hope not tore up enough to not take the shot and blow that giant eye-sore into dust."

The hardness in the lines of his face softened. "He did mention that you don't talk like a Princess."

"Oh for the love of all that is holy, really? That's how he remembers me? That's the thing all of you take with you when you think of me?"

"Aside from royal fits like this, it is a rather distinguishing characteristic of your personality."

I rounded on Nova. "Stay out of this, Rambo. Or so help me—"

Threatening him probably wasn't the best thing I could have done, considering two men with blasters and a desire to kill anything resembling an Imperial were staring at us. With blasters. And itchy trigger fingers. Did I mention the blasters?

"Put on the binders," Angry Pilot One said.

"That won't be necessary," Wedge put in before Nova could react. "I trust her, thus far. Don't give them weapons. But they're coming with us."

"It's more like you are coming with us," I said, following were the blaster-pointing oompa loompa gestured. "We've got a ship ready to get the hell out of here. You on board or what?"

"Do we have much of a choice?"

Nova jumped in before I could state the obvious. Maybe there was something to my talking too much, or being too sarcastic. Princess Leia never would have gone this far in a conversation. I should stop trying to have the last word, which was a bad habit of mine. I mean—

It was Wedge of all people that grasped my arm, pointing a blaster at my side. "Did you hear me?" he asked, whatever good will I had earned with him starting to fade. "I said we need to move, now."

One of these years, I was going to remember to pay attention! "Sure thing, doll," I said through suddenly stiff lips. "But you might not want to point that thing at me. Nova isn't exactly all on board with my plan to rescue you, but he's loyal to me. And if you keep antagonizing him, I'm not going to be able to stop him from taking you all apart."

"Then let's hope that doesn't happen. Now, let's move."


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: Thank you all for the reviews, favorites and well wishes! It has made this story so much better. :D As promised, here's the second half to that long chapter. Please let me know what you like or dislike.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun.

* * *

I was still trying to decide if I liked the real Wedge or not. I know, I know, I shouldn't be trying to judge a man when he's scared out of his mind, has a blaster pointed at my side, and pretty much saw me as a moving meat-shield/hostage. The whole 'trapped on a Star Destroyer' thing probably wasn't helping the situation in the way of first impressions. It was sorta like trying to make friends with a person while the two of you were hostages during a bank robbery. There really wasn't any room for niceties or idle chit-chat when you were fairly certain your life was going to end in a horrible violent way in second now.

So I tried not to hold over his head the fact that he thought I was an Imp-dick. Try being the key word in this situation.

But, you know, I was human and all that. I wasn't perfect. Hrm, random note to self: I should probably find a new phrase to use instead of 'only human.' Considering I'd met a Wookie, several droids and two Chiss, all of the above seeming equally as flaws as moi, it would be better to take the politically correct path and say something other than that. There were countless other species in the galaxy I'd yet to meet.

'I was only made of carbon?' Nah. Blasters and deck plating were made of carbon down at their molecular level. 'I was only sentient?' Nope, droids had a sense of self-preservation. Programmed or not, it was still there.

I was going to have to think on that later, when, you know, I wasn't scared out of my mind.

Wedge pulled what I liked to call a Praji maneuver and gave my arm a not too kind squeeze, drawing my mind back to where it should be—on him. More specifically, on the blaster currently making a lovely bruising pattern into my side. The barrels of those things hurt just as badly when shoved against your skin as when letting loose a bolt of energy to blast through it. My wince had Nova staring daggers at the other man, his steps slowing and his face settling into relaxed lines that reminded me of Samuel L. Jackson right before he was about to drop every mf'er in the room with no substitutions.

It didn't matter to him if the man holding a blaster to his back pulled the trigger or not. Part of me believed that Nova was skilled enough to just pull a Jackie Chan and beat the man to death with a door or a chair or whatever happened to be handy even before the blaster bolt touched his skin. The fact that said man had about two millimeters of space between Nova's back and the blaster really didn't matter. Two millimeters was still a galaxy away when that man was pissed.

I fought not to lift my hands in the air in a position of surrender, to try and soothe the situation like I had tried back in the detention block. But that wouldn't do much good given that we were in a hallway filled with other Imperials rushing about in a strange organized chaos. Ah, the lovely ebb and flow of a ship in mid-battle, with everyone trying to make sure they didn't die horribly while doing their duties to the best of their abilities. Also, my acting like the prisoner would cast a bit of a shadow across our disguise as one happy little TIE-fighter repair unit. We at least looked the part down own to the black jumpsuits pilfered from some set of unlucky Imp-dicks' locker, moving about in plain sight and yet unnoticed. It was the oldest trick in the book for a variety of reasons, the least of which being that it worked 95% of the time.

But at least he and the others were out of those ridiculous oompa loompa suits. Nova and I had even changed into a set, though I kept the yellow dress rolled in a bundle and tucked inside a spare tool kit. The belt of Oh-ye-gods-hella-money-money-_money! _was also hidden in a compartment of said kit. I wasn't going to leave those things behind for Thrawn to find. It would give him more proof that I was working against him.

Which I was, sorta. But I was also working against the Rebellion, too, kinda. At the same time I was working for both sides, too. Though my help with the Rebels was my choice and my work with the Imperials was Vader's choice. At least I hoped that was the way it was going. I mean, how did I know the desire to rescue Wedge wasn't put in there by Vader, too? Well, except for the fact that if Vader knew what I knew about Wedge, he would probably want the man worse than dead. Which would not lead to him wanting me to free Wedge.

Wait. Wedge was never captured in the Lucas-verse, so Vader couldn't have known about that. And thusly couldn't have ordered me subconsciously to free him or kill him. So this was a new change, another diversion from the original timeline in an effort from me to fix the original timeline. Making this alternation number… I don't know, twenty-five or so from what should have been happening in the movie? Not for the first time did I curse Vader (for doing this to me), Lorana (for not being here with candy-water for my burgeoning headache) and now George Lucas (for creating all of this in the first place).

Wedge jabbed me in the side again, and I about took his head off for it. Good-guy or not, that really hurt. "Seriously, what's with you and the poking routine, Rogue Two? If you want to off me, I can think of a million easier ways to do it than bruising me to death."

"Making sure you remember where you are and who's in charge. You have the look of someone thinking too hard, and I want to make sure I figure into those plans in a positive way."

"Making you eat that blaster down to the last metal bit would be a positive thing for me at the moment," I gritted out, and then flung up a hand to forestall Nova. "For the last time, I'm on your side here. I want off this ship probably more than you do, whether you believe it or not. So let's refrain from turning each other into a walking mass of bruises and get on with the business at hand?"

"By all means, lead the way," he replied, giving me a nudge forward again.

Though this time he had shifted the blaster more towards my back. You know, a fresh area to bruise now. But it was progress and I couldn't bitch about that. At least he'd listened and tried to be accommodating. Small victories, right?

The flight deck was a mess when we arrived, just as Nova had predicted. More X-wings were being captured, more shuttles arriving with prisoners rescued from where they had ejected from their damaged ships. Wedge and the other two kept their eyes forward, tried not to let their upset show. There was nothing they could do for the others, and they knew it. Concentrating on getting off the Star Destroyer and reporting back to the Alliance was the best thing they could offer their fellow captured pilots.

We hustled across the deck like all the other black-suited flight teams out there, heading to the shuttle that Nova had pointed out, slipping aboard without any incident. And when the boarding ramp closed, I couldn't contain myself anymore.

"This is too easy. Something's wrong," I grabbed Nova's arm. "Nova, is your spidey-sense tingling?"

"Spidey-Sense?" Wedge asked as he removed the dreaded blaster from my side.

And held it level at my head. Okay, maybe that wasn't progress after all.

"Don't ask," Nova threw at him, moving aside so the other two pilots could get to the cockpit and make with the mad piloting skills. "I know what she means even if she makes no sense. And no, I don't feel anything wrong. In fact, I feel that everything is _right_ for once."

"No, I beg to differ. We shouldn't have gotten to the shuttle this easy," I argued, peering into shadows as if expecting Vader and a legion of the 501st to come hopping out of one. "It's … not right. Not considering who I am and who I'm connected with."

"And just who is that?" Wedge asked.

I flinched. "I'm sorta… you know, _connected_ with a certain Grand Admiral."

"Which one?"

"Like it matters!" both Nova and I snapped at once and threw a dual glare at Wedge, causing him to blink and the blaster to waver in a not friendly kind of way.

"Seriously, why does everyone ask that?" I snapped. "And why am I standing here right now like I belong? I should get out of here and let you all make your escape. Thrawn is going to come looking for me. The more you travel with me, the more dangerous your life is going to become. And I didn't help rescue every one of you for you to die this quickly. So, have a nice life, Nova. Live long and prosper and all that. And nice to meet you, Wedge. Tell Iella that I'm a huge fan once you meet her. Peace out, ya'll."

This time Nova and Wedge exchanged a look, as if they had suddenly manifested male- telepathy or a best friend bond or just warrior-to-warrior understanding. Whatever it was, I didn't like it when they stared back at me in unison. It reminded me too much of Thrass and Thrawn. And nothing good (for me) ever came out of a look like that. I turned on my heel and ran, instinct overriding my body's basic desire to trust them. Not if it meant my presence was going to have Vader and Thrawn pursing them to the ends of the galaxy.

I made it as far as the landing ramp, my feet nearly on the blessed safety of the durasteel deck, when a hand caught me from behind.

"NO!" I screamed.

Causing all heads in hearing distance and then some to flick my way. Including the very familiar face of Andryl Paxton, Corporal.

"Princess!" He screamed back. "They're kidnapping the Princess!"

I don't know who it was that yanked me off my feet, but the next thing I knew, I was tossed hard onto the deck and the ramp was raising. "Are you out of your freaking mind?" I shrieked. "I'm trying to protect you!"

"Funny, I thought that was my job," Nova interjected, looking more than annoyed with me, Wedge elbowing his way past us at a dead run and heading for the cockpit.

Fairly reeking of annoyance, too. Him at least I could ignore. "Who died and made you my bodyguard?"

"My _career_ died," he said, reaching down to pull me to my feet and hustle me into the nearest chair with restraints. And in good time, too, as the deck rocked beneath us and the shuttle roared to life. "And as far as I can tell, you are a magnet for trouble. You need a bodyguard. And it happens that I need a line of work."

"I can't afford you."

"You wear a belt of Aargauian platinum, Princess," he pointed out flatly, holding onto my chair as whatever nutjob at the control stick did something that was probably illegal in like eighty star systems or something. "You can afford me."

"You're fired."

"Nice try."

"I hate you?"

He snorted.

"Buckle up back there!" Wedge cried from the cockpit. "It's about to get real dicey in a minute."

"Define dicey?" I shouted back, watching Nova clamber into the seat next to mine.

"Considering that this is a _Lambda_ class shuttle with minimal shields and minimal weapons, and the fact that we're about to enter an open battle were both sides are likely to fire on us, I'd define that as less than favorable odds of our survival," answered Angry Pilot Two. "Hence, dicey."

"Never tell a Correllian the odds," Wedge said, a thread of dark determination working through his voice.

"Well, isn't it great that we have two of them on board," replied Angry Pilot One. "Wedge, get to the weapons. It's going to take both Morvane and I to navigate this mynock nest of laser fire."

"On it."

The ship bucked, rocked almost onto its side, and I was slammed hard against the harness in my chair. "The hell-!"

"Tractor beam," Morvane hissed. "The Star Destroyer is trying to reel us in! Laurent, see if you can plot me a course through the debris of those ships above us and to the right. If I throw enough power into the engines, we might be able to extend the arc of that beam into a half-circle, cutting between the wreckage. It might be enough to disengage that beam. Wedge, see if you can clear me a path."

"I take it the Admiral wants you back something fierce," Nova said calmly, his hands gripping the armrests of his seat about as tightly as I was mine. Which meant he was about as calm as I was. Which in turn meant, not at all. "Normal procedure would call for destruction rather than reclaiming. He must truly love you."

I swallowed hard as the ship sudden went vertical, twisting like a curly straw being slowly bent into a larger circle, the shipboard gravity generators barely compensating for the suicidal tactics Morvane-The-Insane was employing. In the cockpit, the conversation became muted, and though I did not understand the words, I knew cursing and sarcasm when I heard it. It was my version of the spidey-sense.

"He doesn't love me. He—"And there it was, that familiar joy of my tongue not behaving as it should when trying to tell someone the truth. I couldn't tell Nova that Thrawn was using me as a giant fat pawn in his own game, or the fact that both he and I were nothing but giant fat pawns in someone else's game, and so on and so forth. I couldn't even force out the words that Thrawn and I weren't lovers.

"He's going against standard procedure and logic to capture us," Nova pointed out.

"That's par for the course for Thrawn, Nova."

"So I'm learning. If he's so great, why are you running away from him?"

"Uh, did you hit your head or something when I wasn't looking? Last time I checked, I was trying to run back _TO_ him. You and the Corellian Boy Wonder here were the ungrateful snots that kidnapped me this time. Which, might I add, I'm getting really tired of being kidnapped. So stop it."

"You were doing that to _protect_ us ungrateful snots, not because you wanted to. Don't try to deny it," he countered. "If I'm going to be your bodyguard, I need to know why. Why are you running from him? And why did you choose to save Wedge and I in particular? Why are we so important to you, important enough to risk your life? And what—"

What the eff? Saving _specific_ lives? He was talking about my actions like I had some sort of grand master plan! In fact, he was staring hard at me like I was the Emperor or something, like I was… Oh bloody hell, he really did think I was a noble of the Imperial Court, that I was playing games with lives like Vader would do. And that I had selected him and Wedge to be my latest pawns in that game. He really thought I was a mastermind of political movements, like Thrawn or something?

Seriously, and I meant it this time, no freaking good deed goes unpunished! Apparently no one in this universe did something just because it was the right thing to do. Everything had to have a selfish motivation. No wonder the Jedi Order died out and the Dark Side was able to shroud everything. With this kind of negativity running rampant around the Galaxy, it was a wonder people didn't come out of the womb scheming on how to steal the blanket from the kid in the cradle next to them!

Rather than make me angry, it really just made me sad.

The ship shuttered hard before I could get any of that out of my mouth, the sound of metal groaning under the strain of something that sounded like a giant hand crushing a soda can. I yelped. I couldn't help it. And not because I was glad of the reprieve from answering Nova's fifty million questions, either! I was scared, and as much as I joked about how I'd rather chew hard vacuum than spend another moment on the Death Star, I didn't really want to have to own up to it! Dying in space I heard was the worst sort of way to go. Like drowning. It was over quickly—relatively quickly at any rate—but it was the most painful thing you could experience in those few minutes.

There was a sound of tortured electronics, further curses from the pilots in the cockpit and a lot of technobabble about vectors, speeds, and structural integrities. Pretty much the only thing I caught over the sounds of my own whimpers and the heart-stopping shrieking of metal being forced to assume shapes it shouldn't in zero-gravity, pertained to evasive maneuvers and Wedge calling out targets before firing the weapons. I may not have known half of what they were saying, but I didn't need to be a rocket scientist to understand the intent of getting the hell out of Dodge.

My hand reached out of its own accord and was grasped tightly by Nova's. I had my eyes closed so hard that I saw white instead of black behind my eyelids. I just wanted it to be over. I just wanted the Death Star blown up and to open my eyes back in my apartment back home. I wanted this all to be a nightmare brought on by falling asleep watching ANH. Even if it meant I would never see Praji again, or know if he really cared about me like I did for him. Hell, if I was back at home, at least he would go on to becoming a Governor-General of a Core World somewhere, living to ripe old age and being one of those "Git off mah lawn!" crusty geezers. Or in his case "Git off mah planet!"

I would miss him. Miss him so much it made my chest tight to think about it. And I would miss Luke, too. Because there was a part of me that really wanted to watch him become a Jedi, to ask him all sorts of questions about what it was like, and how the Force really worked. And…

… _and I'm so sorry, Aurora. Please, please forgive me. I have no choice. I don't want to kill you. I don't want anyone else to die. Ben, please, if you're with me still, let Aurora have gotten off the station safely. Please, if the Force is merciful, let her survive. Ben, please help me._

What the hell? Was that just in my thoughts? Was that Luke thinking about me when I was thinking about him? How? Why? Wasn't he only supposed to do that to Leia during ESB when he was playing weathervane beneath Cloud City?

_Luke? _I tried tentatively.

I felt him jerk against his restraints. _Aurora?_

_What the freak, man? How in the world is this happening? How are you in my head?_

_I… don't know. How are you in mine? Are you... can you use the Force, too?_

_Do I look like someone that has the mental control to use the Force? I can't even string two words together without running off on a tangent, or haven't you noticed? I mean, granted we didn't get to spend that much time together so you may not have noticed but—see! There I go again! So, no, I don't know how—wait, where the eff_ ARE_ you? _

I got a flash of a very familiar trench, of a tower spitting laser fire, and of TIE-fighters behind him. He was in the middle of his run to the exhaust port, just after Biggs had died. And Vader and his two henchmen (who were less useful than any minion in Despicable Me, I swear!) were closing in on him and his team mates. It did cross my mind that one of his team mates should have been the black-haired Corellian that was currently handling the weapons systems of our rapidly deteriorating shuttle. I had no idea what had altered in the timeline to change that lineup. Certainly wasn't my doing. I was trying to restore the timeline, not screw it up further!

But I couldn't ask right now. Luke couldn't afford distractions.

_Aurora, tell me you are not on the Death Star. I don't want to take this shot if—_

He didn't WHAT?! _To hell with me, you take that shot when it comes up, you hear me farmboy?! You have no choice. We all know that. _

_No, not if it kills you. We'll find another way. There's got to be another way._

_There is no other way! Take the shot. Take it!_

_NO!_

His fingers edged off the triggers. I seriously felt that as if my thumbs had been on the triggers. I lost my mind. For reals this time.

It had to happen. The Death Star had to be destroyed. Tarkin and Motti had to die, or things were going to get so much worse. Never mind that Thrawn was hanging out like a second string quarterback waiting to be called in if the Rebels botched the play, ready to mop up the Death Star if necessary (which made sense as to why Vader chose him for this mission. I mean, if anyone could figure out how to blow up the Death Star with a single Star Destroyer, it was him). Regardless, this _had_ to happen and it had to happen now. I wouldn't let the Star Wars universe implode because one silly farmboy had a crush on someone that wasn't even real!

I wouldn't let billions die because of me.

Oh, son of a..._ I_ was that douche that had to decide between the lives of millions and billions. Not Leia. Not Luke.

Me.

The force of my scream in his head was loud enough that even Nova jerked beside me. I dumped all I had into that scream. Every frustration at my situation, every annoyance at my treatment since this adventure began, every drop of fear and trace of emotion. I gave it my all. Lorana would have been so proud. In that moment, I think out of everyone in this mass hallucination, I understood her the most.

_**OHHELLNOYOUTAKETHATSHOTDOITN OWNOWNOWNOWNOWNOW**_**NOW**_**! **_

Nova recoiled from that scream, heading whipping in my direction with a look of disbelief on his features. Luke recoiled from it, too, slamming against his control stick and the firing buttons there. His thumbs found the triggers on reflex, pressing down. Which caused two perfectly aimed proton torpedoes to launch out from their tubes. I felt his shock for a split second before our connection vanished. Almost as if he turned his concentration to something else—like, say, getting the freak away from the soon-to-be-exploding-piñata that was the Death Star.

I glanced at Nova, saw the look in his eyes. The knowledge of what he'd eavesdropped on from Luke and me.

"GET US OUT OF HERE!" we roared in unison.

"The Death Star is going to blow!" Nova bellowed.

"Luke did it!" I shrieked on top of him. "He made the shot of the torpedo-things into the exhaust-whatever. Now do some of that pilot shit and move us away!"

Wedge and the others didn't argue. The shuttle twisted in space again, banging into the carcasses of dead ships and confusing the tractor beam computer, slipping free. And then we were gunning it as hard as the sublight engines could take us, making a hasty retreat before we became a permanent part of the fireworks that were about to go up. The _Admonitor_ ceased its attempts to capture us, or Angry Pilot Two called out, its massive girth moving with surprising grace out of the blast radius.

The shockwave-like death throes of the Death Star struck the shuttle from behind, flipping us slightly off course. Wedge, Morvane-the-best-pilot-ever and Laurent fought the controls, trying to bring us back onto a safe path. I fought not to barf as the ship spun around like a top. A flat spin I think they called it. At least the gravity projectors hadn't gone off line yet. Nothing worse than puking in zero-G.

I squeezed Nova's hand, found it surprisingly cool and clammy and lip in mine. My head snapped his way, staring at the too-white of his face, they way his wide eyes focused on the nothing in the seat across from ours. "Nova?"

Nova stared. "Who are you? Why?"

He was staring at nothing. Just an empty chair as uniform as those around ours. I mean, unless a ghost of a former Jedi had decided to join our little looser party, he was had probably just lost the last of his san—

The wide eyes narrowed, and then opened rapidly and wider than before. "The Negotiator?!"

Oh that was it. That was the last straw! "No no no no no NO!" I wailed, covering my face with my hands. "Your glowing sparking ass needs to be helping Skywalker. Not hanging out with the looser brigade. So step off, Glow-in-the-Dark, and get with the rest of the program!"

"You can see him, too?" Nova asked in astonishment.

"Of course I can't! I'm not a—"

Oh, what a time to tell him that I had lied through my teeth when I'd saved his life. I had less Force potential that a rock. I watched the truth dawn in his eyes, and fought not to let a hint of shame appear in mine. "Okay, so I lied to you. I don't have the blink. I'm not a Force user. But I do have a surprisingly dangerous knowledge of the future, mostly. Don't ask me how that has come about because I can't tell you. Just acknowledge that it's there and I used it to save your life. So go on and hate if you want, but you won't find me crying regret because you're still drawing breath, pal."

He looked like he was going to say something, emotions flickering across his face too fast for me to catch. Then he glanced back at the Ben-That-I-Couldn't-See-Who-Should-Not-Be-Here.

And he smirked! Just dropped all those rapid complex emotions from his visage and smirked. Like the two of them were old friends having a laugh at my expense.

I hated being laughed at. Call it a throwback to a bad childhood, but it was the truth. Kids used to pick on me all the time when I was in elementary school simply because I got my growth sprit way ahead of all the other kids. Let me tell you, hell isn't a place where you go to burn in fierily torment. Hell is when you are a 3rd grade kid taller than all the others—including the boys—and even the teachers you didn't know personally wouldn't let you go in with your own class after recess, because you looked tall enough to be a sixth grader!

So yeah, I had some self-confidence issues. I bet you did, too.

"Stop laughing at me!"

Nova glanced back to me, an annoyed expression tinting the astonishment. And I got the impression that they (him and the Ghost of Christmas Past) were staring at me. "Not everything is about you, Rori."

"Stop calling me that. It's not my n—" Dammit I never wanted to say my name in my life.

He blinked, stared straight at Ben and then back to me. Blinked again. "Mary? Your name is Mary?"

I couldn't say yes! How's that for a kick in the pants? Couldn't even nod in his direction. I sorta just sat there and jerked a bit in my seat, fighting Vader's commands over my body in my attempt to communicate with him. Not even sign language, or nodding my hands like shadow puppets. Not even charades would let me tell him yes.

Nada. Nothing. And so I stopped trying, wondering with a dejected sigh if Aurora was now my new Sith name. Figures. Of all the names out there, I would get one that meant "Dawn." At least Threnody meant 'lament' or 'dirge' or 'sad song.' Me, I got stuck with sunrises and butterflies. Might as well call me Darth Cupcake. Who the hell would be afraid of that?

He looked back to Ben. "Dagobah? Why?"

If I thought I lost my mind before, I was wrong. This time I went positively ape-shit. This so couldn't be happening!

"NO! You can't go to Dagobah!" I screeched, waving my arms frantically in the air. Like a football ref calling for a time out. "_You _aren't even supposed to be here. _LUKE_ is supposed to go to Dagobah and become a Jedi and all that shinny happy galaxy saving crap! That's _his_ destiny, not yours."

Enough was enough, really! I had saved his life, sure, and my actions had recreated his happily-ever-after. But he couldn't be the one chosen to go to Dagobah… could he? Without Luke, who was going to bring Anakin back to the Light Side? Who was going to convince Vader to shove over and kick Palpatine out of the Rule-The-Universe seat?

And how could saving one person totally rearrange the entirety of the galaxy? Of the Universe? Of Time, itself? This wasn't Dr. Who! This was Star Wars. Somebody dial up the TARDIS and send the good doc packing back to his own timeline.

"He says you are a vergence in the force."

I snapped back from my mental image of shoe-horning the Doctor and all eleventy million of his companions, daleks, cybermen and the Face of Bo back into the TARDIS where they belonged. "He said what? Oh, sweetcheeks, I haven't even begun to be a disturbance in the Force! I'm not the one jacking with the program. Okay, not jacking with the program that badly as to send someone else to Dagobah when it should be Luke! And why are you here anyway, Mr. Ghost-of-Disasters-Yet-To-Come?" I addressed the air menacingly. "Shouldn't you be helping Luke?"

Nova stared at me much like Thrawn or Thrass did when I'd said something uniquely stupid. "He said vergence, Mary, not _disturbance_. You should learn to pay—"

"If you finish that statement with 'pay attention' like the Dragon did, I'm so going to—"

"Punch me in the head, yes, you've threatened that several times. General Kenobi thinks it may do you some good to go to Dagobah, too. It might soothe your temper. And before you argue further, he says that Luke will go there as well. But in his own time and in the proper way. For now, this conversation has to stay between the three of us."

"And just like that, you're going to trust a ghost?"

"So far he's the only one that hasn't lied to me yet."

I opened my mouth, closed it. Well, crap. What do you say to that? "Does that mean you aren't my bodyguard anymore?"

He gave a dry chuckle. "If anything, it reaffirms the fact that you need one desperately. I'm still mad at you, but General Kenobi and I both agree that you are too dangerous to let run around the galaxy without a guardian."

"Well, I'm so glad you two are having a blast discussing my future between the two of you without my input. Thanks."

This time, he was the one that looked chagrinned. "Ror—I mean, Mary, don't be like that."

"And don't call me Mary," I snapped, part of me not quite believing I'd just said that. "I have a feeling that anyone that knows who I really am is going to find themselves on the glittery-ghosty-side of the Force once Lord Hater learns about it. So yeah, I guess this is me agreeing that this conversation needs to stay between us. Great, just what I needed. Yet another pact of secrecy. I'm collecting conspiracies like sea shells. What a lovely new hobby!"

Wedge and the other two managed to get control of the shuttle right around that time. And not a moment too soon in my opinion! Anymore of this discussion with Obi and I was going to scream. It was too much, not on top of everything I had just experienced in the past week. I had hoped, severely hoped, that the moment the Death Star went BOOM I would somehow be teleported back to my world. Or wake up from my coma. Or whatever strange state of affairs that had brought me here reversed itself.

At this point, I would have accepted the Doctor and a TARDIS and a lift home.

But as Morvane landed us on Yavin IV, I knew that wasn't possible. I wasn't going to get out of this any time soon. There was too much that needed to be corrected, that I had screwed up with my very presence here. Maybe if I could find a way to set it right, I could go home. Because, even if the way home manifested itself right now front and center before me, I couldn't take it. What would happen to Nova? To Luke? To Praji and all the others?

And what about Leia? Dear lord, she was still running around as Vader's puppet! Which meant everyone here on this moon was literally a phone call away from being target practice for the Emperor.

"Thanks Wedge," I said as he walked back into the passenger section. "You guys did a bang up job in getting us out of that mess."

"No problem," he replied… and pointed that blaster at Nova and I again. "Now, out of the shuttle if you please. Don't try anything and I won't have to shoot you."

I sighed. Nova sighed. We placed our hands on our heads and followed. At least, we tried to until we hit the landing pad.

"AURORA!"

The sound was followed by loud cheers as Han, Chewie and the Doublemint Twins—I mean Luke and Leia ran towards us. And Luke caught me around the waist, spinning me in the air before pulling me down for a kiss that would have made any other fangirl faint with jealousy.

"We did it," he said with a huge grin as he lowered me to my feet.

"No, you did it, slick."

"I couldn't have done it without your encouragement. So thank you," he said, and then seemed to realize that he'd just kissed an (supposed) Alderaanian Princess. He blushed slightly, taking a step back and running a hand through his hair. "Slick? What happened to 'farmboy?'

"You blew up the Death Star, sugar," I smiled softly. Trying not to do so sadly. So many lives lost, on both sides. It was heartbreaking to think about, nevertheless consider my own role in it. "I think that deserves more than a farmboy rating."

If he noticed my reluctance to celebrate, he didn't show it. He slipped his arm around me instead, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Wedge holster his blaster. Even shake hands with Nova, now that The Hero of the Rebellion had pretty much vouched for us. The two were quickly swallowed in the throngs of celebrants. The sounds of victory. I couldn't begrudge them their joy. Even I felt a touch of relief that the Death Star was gone, but… eh. I suppose it was called 'Survivor's Guilt.' Another neurosis to add to my growing list of them.

"You made it!" Leia laughed, throwing arms around my neck. "I was so worried. But I knew you would survive. There was always more to you than an Imperial courtesan, Rori."

She flung her arm around my waist. Han threw his around hers. And with Luke on my other side, I was pretty much framed in as we entered the base. Surrounded by what should have been love and friendship and the best times in our young lives. But I knew better. I knew what was coming, what would nearly destroy them all. And listening to the laughter of the others around us, I felt my heart firm, my resolve grow stronger.

No, I wasn't going home any time soon. I was going to undo what Vader had done, what I had inadvertently done, and I was going to make this right. And as the sky filled with fireworks, as the colors cascaded down from the heavens like falling stars, I made a wish. A final wish.

Careful what you wish for? Bah. I was going to wish so hard the Emperor wouldn't know what hit him.


	19. Chapter 19

A/N: Wow... over one hundred reviews! I about fell over with happy shock when that happened. :D Thank you all for reviewing and reading and enjoying. Mary thanks you, too.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs. Mary owns Mary. Star Wars and all movie references are owned by whomever owns them. I make no money from this. It's purely for fun. Please do not sue.

* * *

This is the point in time where an Epilogue would normally appear in any novel to round out the story. Or if this were a movie, this would be the tiny little blip at the end of the credits that gave the audience that last lingering feeling of having watched a great story unfold. The main bad guys had been spanked hard, and those that weren't smart enough or fast enough to get out of the way were nothing more than interstellar dust indistinguishable from the other interstellar dust that was once the most menacing weapon the known galaxy had ever seen. While the Emperor still sat the Iron Throne and ruled most of the cosmos like an inbred spoiled blonde kid, the Rebellion had finally earned the right to capitalize the "R" at the beginning of their name.

As in "Recognize," homies. The Rebellion done kicked your asses something good. Word to ya mutha.

Everything had worked out as it should have… kinda. I suppose you could say the "objective" of the original storyline was met. So what if Leia was a walking time bomb, probably relaying everything from the brushing of teeth down to the next location of the rebel base back to her Big Daddy? So what if an additional warm body (a.k.a. Nova) was headed to Dagobah to see Master Yoda and learn the ways of a dead religion in hopes of restoring some semblance of goodness to the universe? In the end, Leia wasn't dead. Luke wasn't dead. The Death Star was no more, and Han was sticking around because of a pair of gorgeous brown eyes and the way the owner of those eyes could keep up with him verbally.

Yeah, it was time to close this book in the trilogy. Time to click my heels three times and catch a ride on the TARDIS across the yellow brick road, giving the finger to the Seven Kingdoms while sailing out of the Labyrinth and Middle Earth and back to my own Gozer-free New York building. I'd finished the storyline. I'd survived.

For all intents and purposes, I'd _won._

So why was I standing there on a duracrete landing pad in the middle of a storm, wishing that the end credits for this Wayans Brothers spoof movie were falling on my head instead of rain?

I was standing there because that's where my reward for helping save Wedge and Co. (and for also helping Luke take the luckiest shot in the history of lucky shots) was located. Towering above me was my own ship. She was banged up in spots, dirty in others. Older and humbler than many of the other newer makes and models out there. But she was what I wanted. A tough old bird of a freighter that had probably seen more combat than I'd seen years of life. She was a cross between the Millennium Falcon and the Ebon Hawk.

I decided to call her "Serenity."

And all around her, still in those eye-wrenching orange oompa loompa suits, a bevy of techs scurried over her hull like ants on a dropped piece of candy. Fixing, welding, patching… working through the night to make certain that the _Serenity_ was flight worthy come the dawn. Because that was when the mass exodus was going to take place. The Empire knew of the Yavin base now, and even though the Death Star was gone, it wouldn't be too difficult for His Evil Overlordship to finish his temper tantrum and send a couple squadrons of Star Destroyers here to raze the planet.

But for now there was peace. And rain. Beautiful, loving, gentle, cool rain.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Luke asked quietly, stepping up beside me and draping a blanket over my shoulders.

I put a smile on my mouth that I didn't really feel. No, that wasn't entirely correct. I did feel pride at owning my own starship. I didn't even own a car back home. It cost more than three months of my rent to cover one month of parking in Manhattan. So car ownership wasn't practical. Especially given you could hop the subway and be anywhere in about twenty minutes, or hail a cab if you were feeling particularly plucky that day. But to go from nothing to owning an entire spaceship? It was beyond a dream come true.

I just wish it hadn't cost so many lives to earn it.

"I want this more than I can say," I answered, lifting an eyebrow at him. "Why are you here, Slick? Shouldn't you be on round eight hundred of drinks, Mr. Hero of the Rebellion?"

He went a touch green around the gills. "No, thank you," he said quickly, swallowing several times. "I've had enough drinking in the past few hours to last a few lifetimes. Besides, I could ask you the same question."

"I'm not a hero of the rebellion."

"Yes, you are."

I turned, expecting to see a smile on his lips. At the very least something faintly mocking in his expression. Unless, again, sarcasm had become a superpower when I wasn't looking, I failed to see how I'd contributed anything to this little adventure. Instead, I was greeted with warm serene and serious eyes. Eyes far too old to be in a face that young. I glanced away from that look rather quickly.

"All I did was give you a mental shove," I muttered, hunkering down in my blanket. "And all I did for the Rebellion was donate some stuff I wasn't going to use, anyway. It's like saying I should get a Nobel prize for handing my garbage to the Goodwill."

He grinned ruefully. "Princess, that's like saying I threw a rock at a Star Destroyer and brought it down. You've given them more money than they know what to do with in donating those Aargauian platinum disks, not to mention a fully functional _lambda _class shuttle with current security and docking codes. The rebellion is going to have all the supplies it needs for quite a while."

Oh, wasn't Hater gonna _hate_ when he realized I'd done that! It was almost enough to make me all warm and glowy inside. Almost. "I doubt that. Not if they keep making boneheaded decisions."

"Such as?"

"Such as adding me to the war council!" I snapped. "What in the world could I do to help with that? I'm not a strategist. I'm just… me."

"And I was just a farm boy until a week ago."

"You were never just a farm boy, Slick."

Seriously, listening to Luke being all humble was just… weird. He was always humble in the books, even when he was a Jedi Master. But hearing it instead of reading about it? Nuh-uh. It was like asking the Queen of England to burp like a sailor. It just wasn't done!

And to cover my staring at him like a little girl who was just told a little boy on the playground that she liked him, I punched him playfully in the shoulder. What? Don't look at me like that. It's not that I think boys are icky (_hello_, have you seen some of the 'boys' in this universe? Hotness as far as the eye can see!). I fully acknowledge that I have a punching disorder. I just wasn't looking forward to discussing it with a pint-sized green Sigmund Freud over boiled swamp rat stew or whatever he was going to serve us on Dagobah.

He laughed, blushed (adorably so) and rubbed his shoulder. But that winning smile was back. How in the world Mara Jade was going to try to kill him after witnessing the full power of those eyes and that smile was beyond me. I was even smiling back before I realized I was doing it.

"It's true," I grinned. "How about this, instead, Slick? I'll stop calling you Hero if you don't ever start calling me 'Councilor Soresen.' Deal?"

I stuck out my hand for a shake and he took it, giving one nice firm handshake pump. "Deal, Your Highness."

"Call me Rori. At least in private. I'm not a Princess of anything anymore." Of anything ever!

His smile faded, and that far-too-old look returned to his eyes. "I'm sorry."

It took me a moment to realize what I'd said, and that he'd thought I was referring to Alderaan and the loss of my home. But hadn't he just lost everything, too? "Me, too," I replied gently. "About Ben, and about your family."

He looked away, and it was his turn to stare out at the peaceful rain. I wondered if he was letting it cry for him, letting the fresh droplets of water take the place of salty tears like I had done. Mourning for everything he had lost. For even if Tatooine still orbited its dual suns, the place was forever tainted for him. He couldn't go back anymore than I could go home to New York. Anymore than Leia could go back to Alderaan.

All three of us orphans after a fashion.

I looked at the rain, too. Looked through it, actually, and into the memories of home. I thought of how many times I'd bitched about the stench of the alleys, about the homeless begging on the street corners, about the traffic or the New York Skyline blotting out the stars. I thought of Manhattan in the depths of winter, so bitter cold and hateful. I thought of Hell's Kitchen in the summer, at how hot the air became that it could almost suck the moisture from your eyeballs.

But I also thought of fire hydrants cracked open a smidge by good-natured firefighters for the kids to play in in those same sweltering summers. I thought about nights snuggled under the same blankets with the roomie and eight or so friends in our tiny one-bedroom apartment, all cuddled together on blow up mattresses for friendship and warmth on the coldest of nights. Watching movies and eating popcorn and drinking hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps and whipped cream.

I thought about the way Times Square packed with people on New Year's Eve, and how insane that night was for me at work. People sucking down shots faster than I could pour them, stuffing tips in my shirt because I was too busy mixing cocktails to collect them by hand.

I'd loved it all, and never realized it until it was gone. So I didn't need to correct him if he thought I was referring to Alderaan. New York was just as out of reach as the particles of that planet.

Yet standing there on the eve of a great victory, watching the self same hero of that victory counting the cost of it, I realized something. No matter where I was physically, or what I became mentally, I was still a New Yorker at heart. We were tough as nails, and while we mourned our losses, we never laid down and died. Too dirty anywhere in the city to lie down, for one. And dying? Pssh. No self-respecting New Yorker would die when there were asses left to kick. I mean, look at the sheer number of soulless lawyers and heartless stock brokers in the Stock Exchange, for crying out loud. It wasn't a coincidence that said Stock Exchange was located in New York, folks. Nor the fact that most zombie movies took place in cities like New York.

There was a kernel of truth in every urban myth. And my persona truth was simple: in my heart of hearts, I was still Mary Vasquez. I was still a bartender and proud New Yorker. And if I knew anything, it was how to take someone's mind off of a really crappy week.

"Hey, Slick? You ever played a game called Never Have I Ever?"

* * *

The Emdee droid managed to look pissed off, even with an immobile face plate. But that was nothing compared to the look that Dr. Uli was giving me. "Twenty-three cases of alcohol poisoning," he said sternly, glaring at me. "Twenty-three!"

I winced, his words sounding like they were shouted at me from inches away. Through a megaphone. "Tone it down, doc. I'm one of the twenty-three cases you're bitching about."

Oh, yeah, did I forget to mention that Dr. Uli and crew made it safely to Yavin? Well, they did! Just like Nova had predicted. They touched down planet-side shortly after our stolen shuttle had landed, only their experience with meeting the rebellion was mostly the opposite of mine. Their fanfare had come at the point of blasters. Much in the way of interrogations and questions and all sorts of crap took place, especially for Vill Dance, to prove they weren't Imperial spies. Nova had been the first of our circle to notice they were here (feeling their slight terror at their treatment through the Force).

He'd come to find me immediately. And I had been in my seventh (Eighth? Nineteenth? Considering I was so wasted I couldn't feel my front teeth at that point, I hardly thought it mattered to keep track) round of Never-Have-I-Ever. I'd intended it only to be between Luke and myself, but we'd run into Wedge in the hallway, and to prove I didn't hate him or he didn't hate me, he'd invited himself along for a drink. Morvane-the-Insane and his sidekick Laurent weren't about to let a member of their squad go with us former Imp-dicks alone, so they invited themselves… and so on and so forth. You know, the way any good party fills up with complete asshole strangers. Before I knew it, we'd collected the rest of the other pilots until we had one massive conga line headed for the nearest drink station.

I mean, everyone wanted to raise a glass with the Princess-That-Drank-Like-A-Smuggler and the Hero of the Rebellion. If only for the novelty of it.

And if you've never played this game before, here are the rules: 1.) everyone must play. 2.) one person begins a sentence with "Never have I ever" and ends it with something like "danced naked in the moonlight." 3.) Everyone that HAS done that particular thing has to do a shot. 4.) Then someone else says "Never Have I Ever…" and completes steps two and three. 5) Wash. Rinse. Repeat. Until only one individual is left standing.

Everyone had been pretty trashed by the time Nova arrived. And no one was sad anymore. Well, no one still conscious, I should say. Whatever pilots dreamed about was their own business. But those of us still drinking were having a grand old time. So when Nova tried to get my attention about his friends in lockup, and thusly the attention of Luke and Wedge (my drinking 'wing men') it was a literal Act of Congress to get us all to decide on a single course of action.

Luke thought it was pertinent to call the security team before we walked-o-shamed it down to the detention hall. Wedge thought that was a great idea, too, and attempted to dial up the comlink located in our make-shift bar. But for whatever reason, it wasn't working properly (unbeknownst to us, that was a result of one of his buddies up-chucking all over the station hours before we'd arrived). So his other pal, Dack Ralter, decided it was the electrical lines in this old temple causing the malfunction. Something had to be up with those. Wedge and Luke agreed, and we all had a drink to that.

But the importance of this notification call was not to be ignored, either. So after that round of drinks, Dack, in a moment of brilliance, simply pulled the panel out of the wall in a spectacular shower of sparks with his hands. Then he pulled a different comm panel out of the wall beside it, picked up the wires of the new panel and literally tied them into a complicated knot with the wires coming out of the wall of the old one. All present, including myself, agreed that the knot was a thing of beauty and the comm should by all means _COMM._ But since it didn't, by unanimous unspoken vote we returned to Dack's previous hypothesis that the power lines in the temple were screwed.

And we all had a drink to that, too. Honestly, I was shocked that Nova hadn't throttled us all to death by then.

Regardless, he somehow got us all moving. And by all, I do mean _ALL_. The entire party decided that they were needed to make this mission to retrieve the captives possible. Wedge wouldn't let Luke go alone, especially when he didn't fully trust Nova or myself, and Luke wouldn't go without me. Dack wouldn't let Wedge go anywhere he didn't feel comfortable, and then Morvane and Laurent thought it would be great if the Princess had an entourage. I couldn't argue with that logic. Didn't all real Princesses have an entourage when they did official things?

We all had another drink to that. You know, one for the road… err... hall.

Long story short (again, too late!), we stormed the corridor, got into several fights (the only explanation I could give for that was that bar fights were generally a team sport and often better when the person you were punching was just as drunk and laughing just as hard as you were), ended up in the brig until they realized there wasn't enough space in the brig for us _and_ the captured Imperials they had, and were instead assigned a version of House Arrest that kept us all contained in our individual quarters.

In essence, they grounded us. And I was confined to my ship, since that's where my room was.

Oh, and yes, we managed to get Dr. Uli, Memah Roothes and her fiancé Ratua, Rodo the bouncer, and Teela the Architect and her boyfriend/former TIE pilot Villian Dance out of lockup. Somehow. Don't ask me how. I wouldn't have released them into my custody if I were the security team on duty. Councilor or not, I was three sheets to the wind and couldn't tell an astromech droid from a hair dryer. But they'd let the others go at my word (and Luke's).

Which, incidentally, was why Dr. Uli was staring down at me with that disappointed look on his face.

"I should let you suffer that hangover all day," he was muttering, fishing in his medical kit for something. "But we have to clear off this moon in two hours. You need to be functional."

"She isn't doing the piloting," Nova-the-worst-bodyguard-ever said from where he leaned against the wall. "I'll be flying this crate. You could let her linger in her well-deserved misery for a while. I won't tell the other Councilors."

Did someone just order a one-fingered salute? Why, I think he just did! And I delivered.

He smirked. Dammit.

Uli batted my hand out of the way, leaning back over me. "Normally, I would agree with you. However, Councilor Organa especially wanted her to be coherent today," he punctuated that statement with a needle into my shoulder, hard enough that I yelped. Probably did that on purpose. Stupid doctors. "Though if I were in your shoes, Councilor Soresen, I would expect something worse than the pain of this hangover if Councilor Organa's expression had anything to do with your future."

"I'd like to point out for the record that my 'shoes' walked down a hallway and saved you and the others from a night in lockup. You wouldn't be practicing medicine right now if not for me."

"I wouldn't be dealing with multiple lacerations, cases of alcohol poisoning, and broken bones today if it wasn't for you. You haven't scored any points with me, Your Highness. I could be sleeping in my cell right now."

"Bitch, bitch," I mocked… okay more like moaned… and realized my headache was nearly gone. And I didn't have a bad taste in my mouth. "That wasn't bacta, was it?"

"Not everything is healed with bacta, Your Highness."

It wasn't until Uli had walked down the ramp and Nova had raised it that I realized he'd called me 'Your Highness.' Oh, and that he'd called me 'Councilor Soresen,' too! That had me sitting up rapidly, staring at the door to my quarters in a sort of growing dismay.

"What?" Nova asked as he strolled back in (not even bothering to knock! Seriously, manners, people!), concern replacing his self-satisfied grin that my night of drunken revelry had earned me the pain I was in.

"Uli, that's what. Nova, he knows. He knows who I—GAHH!" I gagged around my own tongue as it tried to cram itself down my throat. "I mean to say that he treated me on the Death Star when I was in the cell, so he knows my real—" Crap! I was so tired of not being able to state my own name!

Nova sat beside me on the bunk, pulling my hands gently from my throat. "He knows your name is Mary Vasquez," Nova finished for me.

I tried to nod. Instead I performed in impression of a quadriplegic. With no tongue. And paralyzed neck, too.

"I take it your frozen silence means yes. No, don't try to acknowledge it. General Kenobi said that you wouldn't be able to confirm the truth even when I touch upon it. So I'll drop the subject."

I let out a breath that I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "Thank you. But if he knows the … past," I said delicately. "Why is he acting like I'm a Princess now? He has to know that I'm the same girl he saw in the cell."

"It's something we'll have to ask him," Nova said, face darkening slightly as he peered down the hallway in the direction Uli had gone. "As it stands, I'll make a call to Wedge and have him watched. Just in case."

It was my turn to nod, really nod this time. "You and Wedge are tight friends now, huh?"

"I wouldn't call us friends. But we've come to an understanding."

"Men," I huffed, flopping back down on my bunk and putting a damp cloth over my eyes. Worst part about hangovers ever, your eyes always felt like shriveled raisins. "You try to kill each other and the next thing you know, you're drinking buddies."

He laughed, rising to his feet. Looking, I noticed as I peeked out from under the cloth, rather nice in civilian clothing rather than unrelieved Imperial black. It suited him. Probably more than he realized. "That's because Wedge and I are mature enough to realize it wasn't personal. Now that we're on the same side, that debt is wiped clean. Besides, we're hardly drinking buddies. Now sit tight and try to sleep. I have to get the _Drunkin' Princess_ into the air."

"Her name's _Serenity_!"

"Not after last night," He smirked. "Just ask anyone."

* * *

It couldn't have been two or more hours into our flight from Yavin that I bolted upright in bed. Cold abject fear was coursing through my veins, my breath heaving in and out of my chest. It wasn't like waking up from a nightmare. That always felt different, always tinged with the slightest bit of relief as your brain realized that you were safe in your bed, away from whatever it was that had scared you witless. No, this was something else entirely.

This was a fear that kept growing as consciousness fully set in, rather than going away. Leaving me cold inside.

I wanted to move my hand towards the comm button, to call for Nova. I wanted to scream his name out loud. I couldn't even blink, let alone get my hands to touch a control. But the worst sensation was when my legs moved of their own accord, slipping off the side of the bunk. The cold continue to grow inside me, like ice forming steadily in my blood. My head throbbed in time with my pulse. And still I couldn't call out.

It was like I was on autopilot, a prisoner behind my own eyes. And my destination was the communications console in my room.

My fingers moved across the keyboard, imputing codes that I could not have known. Complex things some part of me that shouldn't recognized as secure communication lines. And then I stood back and waited. When the screen flickered, indicating that whomever I had called had picked up the line, I dropped down to one knee, head and back bowed and palms touching the deck.

And that heavy electronic breathing filled the air. And the coldness inside me solidified into the echoing memory of a slimy dark tentacle in my head.

"Master," my lips moved, my voice spoke reverently.

Inside, I screamed.

"Report, my servant."

"We are going to the planet Teardrop, Master," The thing that was not me continued to say with my voice. "I could not persuade them to make the move to Hoth ahead of schedule. Nor could Mistress Leia. We both tried, Master. We both failed."

More electronic breathing as Lord Vader considered my words. More screaming inside me as I couldn't stop any of this from happening!

"The failure is not complete, my servant. You are both now Councilors to this Rebellion's leadership, are you not?"

"Yes, my Master."

"Good. Continue in your efforts to guide them along the course to Hoth. My plans are almost in place. Do not fail me, servant."

The comm when dark, and I fell on my side on the deck, going fetal. Sobbing and shaking as control of me returned to, well, me. I couldn't believe what I had just said, what I had just done. What it had felt like to be a prisoner inside my own body! Now I knew what my 'punishment' had been when Vader had mind-fucked me. I may not know the person lurking inside me, but I was aware of her now. Aware that she could be triggered. Aware that I was helpless to stop her when she took over.

Was Leia now doing the same thing I had just done?

And a new horror blossomed to life, the realization of what was going to happen. Leia and I were going to guide the rebellion into Vader's hand, to force them to do Hater's dirty work, as if they were nothing more than another legion of stormtroopers at his disposal. But worse, oh so much worse in my opinion, was the fact that I had already inadvertently set someone else up to take the fall for this, if it were to get out that someone was a traitor to the rebellion.

_But if he knows the … past," I said delicately. "Why is he acting like I'm a Princess now? He has to know that I'm the same girl he saw in the cell."_

"_It's something we'll have to ask him," Nova said, face darkening slightly. "As it stands, I'll make a call to Wedge and have him watched. Just in case."_

Oh screw me, I had just set up Dr. Uli as my patsy!

And still my tour through the Museum of Just-How-Much-Worse-This-Can-Get wasn't over for the night. As soon as my control returned, it was snapped away. Sort of. It was hard to explain. My body was moving without my consent again, but it wasn't a fluid as before. Jerky. Like a zombie almost. Like I was a droid that had only half its programming in place, or was programmed by an amateur. My fingers had to input a new security code three times before it went through. I sat in the chair this time, arms wrapped around myself, teeth clacking together in my shivers.

Another face filled the comm screen. And I closed my eyes, letting the tears fall.

"You, too?" I managed out through my chattering teeth.

Grand Admiral Thrawn smiled slightly, inclining his head. "Did you really think I would let you go?"

"I knew my escape from the _Admonitor _had been too easy!"

"On the contrary, it nearly fell apart," he replied smoothly. "I had not anticipated the sheer amount of loyalty you can inspire in people, Princess. Corporal Paxton had nearly rallied an entire legion of TIE pilots to go after you. The crewmen working the tractor beam stations are beside themselves with anger and disappointment that they allowed an Imperial Princess to be abducted by rebels. Senior Captain Parck, in particular, is calling for blood on your behalf. I suppose I have to thank Nova Stihl for advancing my plans despite your best efforts otherwise."

Ah hah! That was who had grabbed me and thrown me back onto the shuttle. "Don't you mean thank him before you kill him?"

He shrugged a shoulder. "He is a traitor now, my Princess. His fate was decided by Imperial edict long before I put on the uniform."

My mouth went dry. "You could change that," I said quickly. "That's in your power to do. You could pardon him, or make up some set of orders that has him playing double agent."

"I could," he agreed.

And I sighed, slumping back in my seat. "What will it cost me?"

"That you are willing to ask that question is payment enough for the time being. I will consider your request. Now," his voice went cold, his eyes glittering harshly. "Report."

It wasn't a complete surprise when my lips moved of their own accord, rattling off to him the entire conversation with Lord Vader like I was nothing more than a giant walking tape recorder and he'd just pressed play. It was still shocking, mind you, but not for the reasons you might think.

While my mouth had its own fun playing tattle-tale, my mind thought back to Lorana and our oh-so-seemingly-innocent conversation over tea. That oh-so-innocent feeling of warmth and trust that had grown between us during those small moments. At the time I had wondered if she was using the Force on me. Now I had concrete evidence that that she had been. That my subconscious brain had been trying to warn me that the warm fuzzies she was sending wasn't all good, that someone else was adding programming to my mental circuit board so soon after Vader had pretty much wrecked the thing.

Who else could it have been? Who else a) had access to me, b) was a Force user, and c) was so loyal to Thrass and Thrawn as to throw any bits of trust between us to the wind, all to set me up as a double-agent? So much for thinking the evil Uhura, Kirk and Spock really wanted me to be part of their little conspiracy-driven away team. I guess the truth was they just wanted a Red Shirt to tag along. And wasn't it just damn convenient that blondes like me look stunning in red?

I was such a freaking idiot.

He was silent a moment when I ran down, lips pursed as he contemplated this information. "Intriguing. For now, continue on with the plans as Lord Vader has commanded. I will contact you via agents when I need you."

"You make it sound like I have a choice," I shot back bitterly.

He paused in the act of leaning forward, as if he had been in the middle of disconnecting the call. Then he leaned back, steepling his fingers before him. "You do."

He had the _gall_ to say that? "Really, because, gee, my lips moving and my fingers working on their own when I don't want them to seems the opposite of choice to my reckoning."

"Consider it a precaution, my Princess. A layer of protection for you. You cannot consciously know you are betraying Lord Vader. He would sense that in an instant and destroy you."

I blinked at that. "You mean I'm not going to remember this conversation with you?"

"Not one word of it," he replied, eyes narrowing slightly in puzzlement. And then he seemed to get it. "Ah, I understand. You seem to think I am using you like a pawn. While I admit that, to some extent that is correct, I happen to value the lives of those that serve me. Believe it or not, my Princess, we have every intention of seeing that you live through this assignment. You are not alone. Lady Threnody is not betraying your burgeoning trust. If anything, I would see her actions as cementing it."

"And what I have done to earn the privilege of your protection?" I asked acidly, not believing a word of what I wasn't going to remember!

He ignored the sarcasm. "You proved your loyalty to me. I gave you every opportunity to escape from the _Admonitor._ I made certain you had clothing, provisions; weapons and armor for your Nova Stihl. All loaded onto that shuttle, waiting for you. And still you ran down that ramp, did everything in your power to return to me."

I wanted to argue with that… and for a wonder didn't. He may have believed I was running back to him out of loyalty _to him_, but in reality I had (tried to) run back to him out of loyalty to Nova and Wedge. Trying to save them from having the most feared of all Grand Admirals hunting them down like savage dogs and using what they knew for his own purposes. From being turned into puppet-like traitors.

Like me.

"Take heart, my Princess," he continued, a slight smile on his lips. "Soon enough this rebellion will be crushed and I will show you something truly worth fighting for."

He cut the signal before I could ask what that was. And I sat there glaring at the blank screen, thinking about what he had… what that… huh, why was I still staring at the screen? I'd made my stupid forced report to Lord Hater. I was free to go back to bed and sob my idiotic, weak-minded, trapped-in-this-hell eyes out. So why was I still sitting there and thinking about Blue Dragons of all things? Probably because kneeling there on the floor and using the word Master had conjured up images of every badly written fantasy movie in creation.

C'mon, how many movies out there featured the lovely slave girl kneeling before her new 'master' before he'd taken her to bed? That had to be it. Anything remotely of a sexual nature always conjured images of me and a Chiss Chippendales routine. That had to be it.

And yet… and yet…

A fatigue so heavy that it nearly toppled me to the deck settled over my body. It was all I could do to crawl into bed before it was light's out on all rational thought. And if I dreamed, I did not remember them.


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: Thank you all for the reviews and private messages! I always say that, but it's true. Thank you for loving this story as much as I do. This chapter is for Alderaan Girl and Akspick. I read all the comments and questions in the reviews, and trust me, more will be answered in the next chapter. A lot more. :D.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun.

* * *

There was a pimple forming on the end of my nose. Not one of those huge zit things that made you look like you were auditioning for the role of Wicked Witch of the West, but one of those tiny, beneath the skin, irritatingly invisible ones. This one was located about a centimeter from the tip of my shnoz, on the left side. And it was annoying the crap out of me, just like all those pointless council meetings I'd been forced to attend since becoming a 'Councilor' to the Rebellion. In fact, this was probably a by-product of all the stress I was under because of those lost hours, talking in circles and managing to get dick-all accomplished.

Some women ate chocolate to handle stress, others drank. Me? I got breakouts. It so wasn't fair.

I stared at the as yet unseen blemish in the murky reflection of the navigation console, my booted feet propped up on the… uh… whatever portion of the controls was next to the navigation screen. I should have known what that section was. I was supposed to be learning how to fly my ship, but honestly it was a lot harder than I thought. It was harder than getting my international driver's license (which was needed for part of my internship for the most useless degree ever—don't ask)! At least on the roads back home, all I had to worry about was left, right, front, and back. Now there was left, right, front, back, up, down, A-B-A-C-A-B-B...

Oh, wait. That was the old blood code cheat for the original Mortal Kombat game. My bad.

"It won't do any good," Leia murmured. "You're still the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. No additions or subtractions will change that."

I about face-planted the console. Seriously, when the hell had she learned to move that quietly? And where the hell was Nova, my supposed bodyguard? Oh, that's right. He was out there with Luke (the before mentioned 'he' that Leia was referring to) at the moment, the two of them taking turns either grimacing at rocks to get them to wobble about, or using that lightsaber to bat away stun beams from a floating Faberge egg thing. Those two had become thick as thieves in the month we'd been on Teardrop.

It was Force training that had brought them together, and the fact that both had experienced ectoplasmic apparitions of the late Great General Kenobi. Both wanted to be Jedi now, and between Nova's knowledge of martial arts and combat, and Luke's uncanny abilities with the Force, itself, they had cobbled together a sort of training program.

At least they had stopped trying to make Nova a lightsaber of his own. After they blew the door off the last warehouse, the thing exploding outward with enough force that it imbedded itself halfway into a landing pad some half-mile away, they'd decided it was better to focus on other Jedi-like skills. Much to the relief of nearly everyone on the base, but most especially the maintenance droids. And wouldn't you know it, Luke now sported a sexy scar near his left eye for his efforts.

Like father, like son? I shuddered. I still had nightmares about Luke standing there on the Death Star, cold rage racing through him as he witnessed the death of Ben. It wasn't so much his firing at the stormtroopers that bothered me. It was more the fact that he was killing them because he couldn't kill Vader. Sorta like the way his father had cut down every single member of the Sand People tribe because his mother had died as their prisoner. Didn't matter if the majority of the Sand Folks were innocent in the events that had killed Shmi. They just happened to be there, and Anakin was just that pissed off not to care.

Just because the Stormtroopers were firing at Luke at the time didn't justify the reason he did the killing. Killing for self-defense was one thing. Killing in frustration… that crossed over so many lines of wrong that even I had to step back and say woah.

I shuddered again, and Leia sighed. "He's a commoner, Rori, but he isn't that bad.

Oh crap, she must have thought I was shuddering at the thought of me and Luke? "Nothing is further from the truth!" I said defensively, tossing a look at her over my shoulder. "You know that. Luke's a sweet kid—I mean man. And I really do adore him…"

"But you don't love him," Leia finished for me, a touch of a grin on her lips.

She strolled in to the cockpit, settling into the pilot's seat next to me. Her hair was down today, loose about her shoulders with the front clipped back in some sort of elaborate braid speckled with tiny jewels. Her outfit was a deep dark red, dipping a tad too low in the front for my tastes, but I supposed the belled sleeves made up for it. The end of her shirt flowed loosely around her hips, belted with black leather and sporting a rather wicked looking blaster to one side. The same red material made up her leggings, tight enough to show every curve of her not-too-hard-on-the-eyes legs, before ending in ankle high black boots with a tiny heel.

Definitely not the usual Leia attire. The Leia we all knew and loved (before I'd somehow jacked up the Lucas-verse) never would have worn that. She'd been a no-nonsense, down-to-earth kind of person. The type that would be awesome to have a beer with after a long day at the grind. Well, even then she'd probably order some softly elegant drink like a white wine spritzer instead of beer. But you get the idea. And she certainly wouldn't have worn jewels in her hair that looked like tiny droplets of blood.

Vader's influence, I'd bet my life on it. Drawing out the darker part of Leia's soul and putting it on display. And all her strange behaviors, her minute shifts in personality, were completely attributed to the loss of her home planet. No matter how much I'd screamed, begged, pleaded, or rambled at Luke and Han and Nova and Mon Mothma, they saw the darker side of Leia as normal after such a disaster. And my flailing, screaming fits about her inconsistencies was also blamed on the loss of Alderaan.

Oh, and get this, everyone was thinking that _I _was the one going off the deep end in pointing this out! Yeah, they were blaming my pointing out of Leia's faults as _my_ way of dealing with the destruction of _my _home planet, too. I was forced to undergo a full psyche eval by Dr. Uli.

And the good doctor had diagnosed me with projecting my own insecurities on Leia. That I was mourning the loss of my way of life, and that I would certainly cling to the discrepancies in my _sister's_ personality to cover up my own (cus, like Thrass had so lovingly pointed out, there was a data trail a million miles long that showed Bail Organa had adopted my sorry butt when I was five. Thank you, Vader and the Imperial Propaganda Machine!). What I was experiencing was all logical, all part of the grieving process.

All playing in to Vader's hand so perfectly. Man, I hated that guy!

"It's okay," The Red Queen said soothingly. "You don't have to answer that."

I shook myself out of my reverie and sighed. "It's not that. He's wonderful, and I'm really honored that he's turning his attention to me. Every girl in the Rebellion—"

"—every girl in the _Alliance," _Leia corrected_. "_We're more than a Rebellion now, which you should have remembered if you bothered to pay attention in the last two meetings. "

"Whatever, call a spade a spade and it still smells," Or was that a rose is still a rose? "The point being any gal would be lucky to have him. It's just that… okay, I'm woman enough to admit it. I'm in love with someone else."

"Nova," she nodded, as if it made perfect sense.

This time I did fall out of my chair. "Say what?"

Leia started, reaching a hand down to help me up. "Are you alright? I heard your head smack the edge of the console. Should I call Dr. Uli?"

"No, not him. I mean yes, I'm fine. But no, don't call him. And no, it's not Nova," I sputtered, holding a hand to the back of my head and reclaiming my seat. "He's my bodyguard and that's it. We're not… it would be like kissing my brother."

Her eyes sparkled with a touch of amusement. "Then who? Let me guess. Wedge Antilles? He's spent a lot of time here."

"Yeah, trying to teach me how to fly. As in physically fly this thing. No dice there, sweetheart."

She laughed softly, slouching down in her seat and folding her arms comfortably across her chest. I stomped on a memory that tried to surface, catching only a fleeting glimpse of Leia in that exact pose, only six years younger. We'd been sitting in the Senate Building, watching our father deliver a stirring speech to the assembly, warning of the dangers of giving too much power directly into the hands of the Moff Council. She'd sat just like that, softly murmuring to me which Senator was already in the Emperor's back pocket. And I'd murmured back which Senator had the most ridiculous hair style or outfit.

Ah, the differences between she and I. No wonder she'd gone on to become a senator and I'd ended up an exiled Imperial Concubine—

Woah, I so had not! But the thought had been so easy to accept, so much so that I'd nearly glossed over the fact that it had never happened. I was getting worse, the longer the fake memories were left inside me the more I was beginning to accept them as my own. How much longer before Mary became the thing that was like a bad dream and Aurora became the real person?

I had to get out of here. I had to get to Dagobah, pronto!

Leia had an unreadable expression on her face when I made my return trip from mental Never-Land. "What?"

She shook her head slightly. "Just wondering what you were thinking to have you look so sad."

I slumped down a little in my own seat, trying not to recognize that we mirrored each other perfectly in that slouch. Maybe Vader had taken that part of my personality and gave it to her, all to make us seem more like sisters?

"I was thinking about the Senate," I said truthfully, not really sure why. "The one time _Dad_ took us both with him the year before you became a Senator."

Her smile was bittersweet. "I remember. It's one of my more fond memories. Until I realize that that was the day you caught Lord Thrass's eye for the first time. I wouldn't put it past him to have started scheming that very moment as to how to get you into his bed."

"It wasn't like that," I snapped, angry and embarrassed. "He and I had… something."

"Something that made it _so_ hard for him to toss you aside to his brother after Threnody consented to be his wife?" She accused, biting sarcasm in her tone. "In fact, that's it, isn't it? You're still in love with Thrawn, aren't you."

Oh, no she didn't! And why the hell did _EVERYONE_ think I was in love with my worst enemy?! Was there some giant neon sign flashing above my head? Some unknown holonet version of Facebook that showed the two of us as a shiny happy coup—oh, wait. There was. Dammit. Stupid data trail!

"We aren't going to have this fight again," I said coldly, imperially, rising to my feet. "It's over, Lei. Let it go. You won't make me feel guilty for doing what I had to in order to survive. Father threw me away. Lord Thrass saved me. And I _will not_ think ill of him for that—ever."

"_We_ never finished it all those years ago when you left home, Rori," She rose to her feet, her imperial arrogance matching my own. "And we certainly never finished it on the Death Star."

Wait, since when did I get the cold imperial princess thing right? I'd been trying to master that the whole time I was trapped in the Emperor's Treehouse of Horrors to no avail. And now one fight with Leia later I was using it like I'd been born to it? It was wrong. This whole thing was so wrong! But I was so angry at her, so disappointed and hurt that she couldn't see my exile from my point of view. She'd made a career out of trying to understand all sides of a situation. But when it came to me?

Not even the benefit of the doubt. Not even willing to listen to my side. How was that for sisterly devotion.

"It wasn't the time or the place," I seethed, stepping up to her. Part of me realizing that I was wearing a similar outfit to hers, except in deep tan with white accents instead of black. Down to the same placement of the same blaster, too. Freaking eerie! "And neither is this. In fact, the intersection of nowhere and never sound about right for this little conversation."

"Why?" she hissed, a single tear of helpless frustration making its way down her ivory cheek. "Why do we have to be on the opposite sides of everything? Why do you always have to love the things that are bad for you, the people that will hurt you? I'm only trying to protect you, Rori."

It was that one tear that got through to me, that cut through the complicated weave of emotions that surrounded all the crap in my head. I saw her as she sat on the Death Star, chained down to that chair and sihuoletted by the mass destruction that was once Alderaan. Saw her single tear as Vader reached into her head and tore the best parts of her to pieces.

I saw the truth and I stumbled backwards from the power of it.

"I don't love Thr—" I tried so hard to say that, tried so hard to make my tongue move and tell her that this was all bullshit. None of this had really happened. I wasn't her sister. And we were both so very screwed! "I mean to say that he and I aren't—dammit Leia, let's not do this, please? I can't take this right now. I can't tell you the things I want to tell you. I'm alone and afraid and I can't let Luke in because I'm in love with… with an Imperial."

_With Praji! His name is Nahdonnis Praji, Leia, and he has the most amazing blue eyes. He can be an absolute jizzbag at times. Okay, most of the time. Okay all of the time, but he's tender and passionate and still strong enough to put up with my crap. He can put me in my place and let me tell him anything with complete honesty. He doesn't judge me. He loves me, too, at least I think. And he knows the real me! Leia, he knows the real me and the real you and he's in so much danger because of that that it makes me sick to my stomach. I can't sleep at night for worrying about him!_

Guess how much of that came out of my mouth? Give a big fat prize to the person that said 'none at all.'

Maybe enough of the real Leia was still in there. Maybe her budding Force talents were starting to manifest and she felt the sincerity that I was pouring in her direction. Whatever the case, her face grew compassionate.

"I'm sorry, Rori," she sighed, reaching out a hand to me. "I guess I'm still angry over the whole thing. And you're right, we shouldn't fight. We're the last of the Noble House of Alderaan, and we can't afford to let the past come between us. If I promise to let go of your… of the decisions you have made, will you promise to at least try to find someone else? Thrawn isn't the man you think he is, and if you continue to mistake his actions towards you as compassionate, you're going to get hurt. He'll use you like his brother did and discard you like trash. You're _not_ trash, Rori. You're my sister. And I'm not the only one that loves you."

Leia tipped her head to the side twice, towards the forward viewport. My eyes followed, taking in the approaching forms of Luke, Nova, and Wedge. The three of them were deliciously slicked with sweat, having completed some sort of workout program that Nova had designed for them. Trailing slightly behind them was Vill Dance, the former TIE-pilot-now-the-newest-member-of-Red-Squadron. Vill was trailing back as his new bride, the lovely Teela Former-Death-Star-Architect-now-newest-member-of-the-Alliance-Corps-of-Engineers pulled on his arm playfully. Trying to drag him in her direction.

The others paused long enough to give a laugh, to make what I was assuming were male-driven comments about Vill's new "duties" as a husband, before making their way towards my ship.

"There are three men out there right now that would love you as much as I do if you would let them," Leia finished softly, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Think about that."

I swallowed hard, and for just a brief second I tried to do as she said. To think about my life as Mrs. Skywalker or Mrs. Antilles. Given what I knew about the future, those were probably the safest bets for a bright tomorrow. But my heart didn't like that idea, and it pretty much called me a two-timing hussy for even thinking of either man when all I wanted was my Commander Dilhole and our tiny interrogation room for two. How's that for an effed up love life?

"Why are you here?" I said, swallowing past the lump in my throat that always came when I thought of Nahdonnis under Vader's thumb, head stuffed full of altered memories. All because of me.

Leia blinked at that. "I'm not allowed to stop and visit my sister on occasion?"

There was something in her stance, in how her voice was notably higher… "Hah!" I exclaimed, causing her to jump this time. "You're hiding from him. Admit it!"

"I'm not hiding from anyone," she returned with a royal sniff.

"I call bullshit on that, your worship."

"Do not call me that."

"Why? Because _he_ calls you that?"

Her sniff turned into a glare. "I do not have the time to listen to or care about what silly title Captain Solo gives me."

I snickered, and watched her turn as red as her clothing. "You're just now realizing that I didn't say Solo's name a minute ago, aren't you. You came to that conclusion on your own. Which only confirmed mine. "

She looked like she was going to argue that point, and then slumped back into her chair. "Fine. I'll admit it to you. The man is insufferable! He's always underfoot, always clouding my judgment with his voice or his smirk or his infuriating nicknames when I need to be focusing on our next move."

"Sounds like maybe I should call Dr. Uli for you this time. I think you've been bitten by the love bug."

"Don't be ridiculous, Rori. Just because the man can kiss like—"

"You kissed him already?" Wasn't their first kiss supposed to happen in the belly of a worm, in the pit of an asteroid, serenaded by Threepio's annoying trilling? Not the most romantic of spots, granted, but shouldn't I just be happy that they were kissing at all?

Leia's look was less than friendly. "Yes. Shortly after we arrived on Teardrop."

"How was it?"

She tried to maintain that cool aloofness, and then grinned so widely that it nearly lit up the room. "Amazing," she laughed, leaning in as if we were still girls sharing secrets. "Rori, I would never admit this to anyone else in the galaxy, but… I think I saw stars for a few moments after we finished kissing. It was the best kiss I've ever had. Better than the stolen one when I was sixteen and had met the Senator from Ryloth."

"That Twi'lek with the purple headtails?" I giggled. "With the way you went on and on about him, I could have sworn father was going to initiate negotiations with his clan for your marriage."

"Nar'rezth was his name," Leia smiled. "And I did go a bit overboard with that, didn't I? Ah, that first brush of young love. You never forget it."

"You're telling me! My first crush was this transfer student from En—"

And then I caught what I had said. I'd called Bail 'father' instead of a sarcastic 'Dad.' I'd referenced yet another conversation that she and I never had about a boy I'd never met. And it was my _real _memory of David Millward, a thirteen year old transfer-student from England that had been my real first crush, that had snapped me out of the fantasy world. It was happening again and so quickly after the last time. I was easing into memories that weren't mine, brought on by Leia talking about memories that weren't hers.

It was like the longer I spent in the company of someone zonked by Hater's woogie, the easier it was for the zonking I received to take root. Like crab grass burrowing its weedy little roots deeper into my brain. Destroying all the good grass… uh I mean memories… to make room for itself. Was it the same for her? Was spending time with me slowly corrupting the real Leia and leaving room for this monstrosity to develop?

Dagobah. I couldn't see that swampy, mud-hole of a planet fast enough!

Leia sighed slightly, and I was saved from trying to explain my sudden reluctance to talk to her by the sound of the landing ramp lowering. Male tones filtered through the ship, the words indistinct but the voices recognizable enough. Nova. Wedge. Luke.

My heroes.

Leia rose to her feet. "I suppose we've spent enough time lying about," she said, smiling softly. "Thank you, Rori. I needed this conversation. I needed a reminder that, at the end of the day, I'm just a woman and people are just people. We can label ourselves as Alliance or Empire, but in the end we all lie down and sleep the same. We all serve our own causes and we all make mistakes. I think that's why I need you on the council with me. You remind me of that truth we all can't forget."

She fished a data card from a wrist sheath and held it out to me. "This is the real reason I stopped by. It's the agenda for tomorrow's meeting. I expect you to read it, prepare for it, and to stay awake this time. Mon Montha was a touch peeved that you started drooling on the council table yesterday."

I couldn't help but blush softly at that, accepting the card. "Can you blame me? Fey'lya drones on and on about his Bothan spies and his own self-importance. I literally want to smash my face into my data pad repeatedly just to make the pain stop."

"It is the price we pay for restoring democracy. If we start to deny any one race the privilege of speaking, we fail at restoring the Republic before we even begin."

"I suppose so. But Leia, can't we at least have a bell in the room?" I whined hopefully. "We can give it to Mon and warn everyone they have a five minute time to state what they want to state. And she can ring the bell when people go over. Please?"

The look she gave me was supposed to be stern and reproving, but the laughter on her lips killed it. "Why don't you make the request tomorrow in session?"

"Don't tease. I know Ackbar would back me."

"That's only because Ackbar and Fey'lya don't like each other—at all."

"And that is my problem, how?"

Leia shook her head, chuckling as she headed for the door. "You'll find out tomorrow."


	21. Chapter 21

A/N: Hello again and thank you for the reviews, comments, questions and private messages. They are always the best thing I find in my inbox, and I take each one very seriously. Life has been hectic of late, so I haven't had time to respond to all the reviews yet. :( I figured you would rather have more story that answers those comments, so I put my focus there. I will catch up, though! Just as soon as life hands me a breather.

This chapter is for Nanobot5770, Mirani, and Audibrowncoat. Thank you all for being patient. The content in this chapter was a long time in coming as answers to some of your questions. I hope it doesn't dissapoint.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun.

* * *

I hated it when Leia was right. One glance at the agenda for tomorrow's total snooze-fest disguised as a council meeting was all I needed to see. More arguing over what credits needed to be allocated where, and who was the most responsible or qualified to lead a mission to some place for some reason because it was bla, blah, and blah. No matter how many times I told them that I hadn't the foggiest idea how to do anything related to leading a rebellion, they still thought my input was necessary. It seriously made me wonder how in the world these people found that one tiny hole on that mammoth Death Star that made the thing go all explody when you shot a laser into it.

Oh, excuse me. Not a laser ray (cus the port was ray-shielded), but a proton torpedo.

Still, someone please explain to me how the brilliant minds that found a weakness TWO METERS wide on a battle station ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY KILOMETERS in diameter were the same brilliant minds that believed an out-of-work bartender knew a thing or two about running an underground resistance. It was like asking a convenience store clerk to help Stephen Hawking figure out the black hole theory! The kid wouldn't even be qualified to get Professor Hawking a cup of coffee, nevertheless kick it with one of the most intelligent men on planet Earth.

Just like I wasn't qualified in the slightest to even open the door to the conference room for these heroes of the galaxy.

That was until my already half-asleep eyes scanned the last item up for conversation. Then I knew it wasn't going to turn into a meeting at all. It was going to turn into a veritable Epic Rap Battle between Ackbar the Awesome and Fey'lya the Failure.

Maaaaaaybeeeeee those titles were slightly skewed by the fact that I thought Ackbar was da bomb diggity. Even Thrawn paused during _Heir to the Empire_ and realized he wasn't going to win so much as a parsec back for the Empire with Ackbar running around loose. When the man that single-handedly brought Coruscant to its proverbial knees stops and says 'hey, we best do something about this dude before he spanks us hard,' you take it for the sincere and honest complement that it is.

As for Fey'lya… well, there was a reason I called him 'Councilor Failure' through pretty much all the novels. The dude was a pit stain, pure and simple. And even knowing that it was standard bothan culture to claim the top spot regardless of if he had the brain power to run it, the fact that he nearly single-handedly destroyed the New Republic in the future had a way of souring me towards him. He was like the political Anti-Thrawn.

Hrm. I wonder if Zahn did that on purpose when he created the character. He'd gone through and picked the best aspects of folks like Robert E. Lee, Alexander the Great, and Sherlock Holmes to create Thrawn (something of which I thought was fantastic when I read the novels, but now I wanted nothing more than to punch him the nose for it! How would _you _feel if you had to face an amalgamation of those people?!). So did that mean he picked the worst parts of Loki (Avengers' version), Captain Hook, and Jafar to create Fey'lya?

Heh. If the imaginary shoe fits…

Regardless, I sighed in disgust, tomorrow's council meeting was going to be as productive as all the others. Which was to say not at all. Not with Failure trying to disparage Ackbar, and Ackbar not having the diplomacy that god gave a dead gnat (seriously, much love for my fave Mon Cal, but the only place he fit in was when organizing and running a battle). The proverbial fur—and quite possibly the literal if I lost my mind and attacked Failure to get him to shut the freak up—was going to fly. It was going to be a long day of nothing doing. No wonder these parts of running the rebellion never made it into the movies. It was like watching C-SPAN all day long. Bor-ring!

"I think it would have been nicer to let me blow up on the Death Star," I said by way of greeting, walking into the lounge area of the _Drunkin' Princess_. Yes, I'd lost that fight. Such a stupid name!

Luke gave a start, the orange colored ball that had been floating in the air between him and Nova bouncing when it hit the floor. Oh, I forgot to mention that the two of them had this new training game that was pretty much the Jedi equivalent of hot potato. Meaning one would pick up the ball with the Force and float it to the other. Then the other would take control of it and float it back. They dropped it more times than succeeded, sorta like two year olds trying to develop coordination skills. But they were getting better at it.

"That bad?" Wedge asked. He glanced up from the dejarik game (you know, the one Chewie and R2 were playing in ANH that looked line animated Dungeons and Dragons or something?) he was playing with Vill Dance.

"Worse," I whined, flopping face first onto the sofa. "We're going to sit there and argue about my suggestion of pulling off this rock before the bad things get here. Ackbar is all for it; Fey'lya not so much."

"That's because Ackbar hated the idea of coming to Teardrop in the first place," Vill put in, moving his creature across the board to attack Wedge's. "Too many civilians to endanger with our presence here. He liked your idea of going to Hoth, Your Highness."

Oh, if he only knew… Five months from now a Star Destroyer was going to come into orbit and let loose a bunch of Stormtroopers. Most of those troopers were going to massacre all the civilians on this continent for being Rebel Sympathizers—even those that weren't. And five of those Stormtroopers, which would soon be called the Hand of Judgment, would go rogue rather than kill innocent people. But that was in the novel _Allegiance_. And I really hoped to be far from this place before I screwed up the lives of any more noble-minded stormtroopers.

I slanted a pointed look at Nova. I had my hands full with just the one already.

"Which is probably why Fey'lya hated the idea of leaving," I muttered into the pillow and then had to sit up and say it again when I realized no one had understood me.

"That and it's impossible to keep ice crystals from forming in his royal fur," Nova deadpanned.

I snorted out a snicker. Yeah, I liked Nova. Aside from knowing the real me, he got my humor.

"I'm certain you and Princess Leia can sort it out," Luke put in, trying to be helpful. "You two can work the impossible together."

Vill and Wedge wisely hid their grins, hunkering down over their game. Apparently it wasn't a secret that Luke had a thing for me. Nova wasn't having that much of an easy time hiding his grin. And so swooped down to pick up the oompa loopa egg and toss it into the air. It paused halfway in its descent to the deck, hovering in tiny jerks towards Luke. Luke picked up with the game, the easy smile on his lips melting into lines of intense concentration. Reminding me of the time he had tried to pull his X-wing out of the swamp on Dagobah…

"We have to leave," I blurted, causing Nova to drop the ball—literally—this time.

"So you keep saying," Wedge replied, eyes still on the dejarik board before him. "I'm sure it's just a matter of time until you convince Mon Mothma to—"

"No," Nova cut in softly, staring at me with an unreadable expression. "No, she doesn't mean the Alliance. She means just her and me."

Luke turned to stare at me, too. "Is that… is that true?"

I couldn't meet that gaze, the crestfallen look in his crystal blue eyes. We'd become a sort of extended family in the past month. Me, him, Nova, Wedge, Vill… even Morvane and Laurent to some extent. And if Han, Leia and Chewie were his new core family, at the very least we were his Brat Pack. We were the ones he'd run around with for all sorts of insane stupid adventures. And now I was taking Nova and pulling up anchor, ripping away another part of his family.

And I couldn't even tell him why. Something else Hater was going to pay for when I got my hands on his robotic ass.

"Something happened today, didn't it?" Nova asked quietly, interrupting my wonderful daydream of forcing Vader onto the stage of Dancing with the Stars, paring him up with Roseanne Bar for a sexy tango. "You saw something."

Saw something… it was our code for the fact that I knew the future... sort of. Who knew what was going to happen the way it should now. But at least I had a bit of an insight into things, even if they were no longer going according to plan. While we couldn't explain the truth of what I knew about them all, we'd made up some sort of story that I was a Force Dreamer. That I had visions that came true.

Just give me an 800 number and call me "Miss Cleo." I was the new personal psychic to the Rebel Alliance.

I nodded miserably, letting Nova take a seat beside me. Unable to tell him in front of the others that I had to get the hell away from Leia before we reduced each other to mental vegetables.

"Okay," Nova replied. "If you say it's time for us to go, then we'll break atmo as soon as we refuel. We've got enough credits to get us to where we need to go. We'll exchange the rest of your medallions somewhere, somehow."

Don't look at me like that. Yes, I'd only given the Alliance two-thirds of my money belt. I'd kept the other one-third, but it wasn't for selfish reasons. I was now unemployed, stuck in a universe with no references, no prospects, and now had a ship to fuel and a bodyguard that I had to pay. I really did feel like Captain Mal from Firefly, wondering how I was going to keep my boat in the air and if I could afford to feed my crew (of one) this month.

And speaking of said crew-of-one, Nova didn't have to ask where we were headed. Dagobah. It was the only place aside from the Alliance that the two of us had in common.

"Then I'm in, too," Luke said firmly.

Uh, he's wha… Maybe I didn't hear that right. "You can't. I mean, not that I wouldn't appreciate the company. Somebody has to keep Nova here entertained. But… don't you want to continue to fight the Empire?"

"Isn't that what you are going to continue to do?"

"Well, yeah. Just…"

"Just what?" he shrugged. "I'm not sure what I want to do right now, other than become a Jedi. Nova has the same goal, and we've made progress together. Besides, Han keeps asking me if I'll join up with his smuggling crew. I was considering the offer, now that the Death Star has been destroyed. If only because I feel… " He trailed off, frowning and glancing at something only he could see in the distance of his future. "I know I can't stay with the Alliance forever. I have to go. But I'd rather continue to fight the Empire instead of smuggle."

Not to steal Han's line, but I was really beginning to get a baaaaadddd feeling about this.

"If you're going to continue fighting the Empire, I suppose you could use a good crew," Vill piped up. "Someone with experience and knowledge of Imperial tactics."

I gaped at him, too, wondering what Yoda would think of a ship full of people crashing his hiding place. _Dumb, you all are. Screwed up my house, you have! Gone, you shall be before your asses, I shall kick! _So didn't want that little dude leaping around me like Kermit on crack with a lightsaber, thanks!

"What about your wife, Vill?" I tried, somehow picturing him as the Jayne Cobb of my crew. "Teela can't be onboard for a plan like this. And besides, you and Luke here are needed to help flesh out Rogue Squadron."

Wedge groaned in frustration, eyes rolling skyward. "For the last time, Your Highnes, its _Red_ Squadron. "You've called me Rogue Two ever since we met on the _Admonitor_. It's _Red_ Two, of _Red_ Squadron."

"Although," Vill said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Rogue Squadron wouldn't be a bad name for a team if we decide to go with Her Highness. It kind of has a kick to it."

Wedge fell silent, thinking on that. And I groaned heavily this time, shoving my face into my hands and leaning heavily against Nova. Great. Now I was screwing up the naming of Rogue Squadron. Worse, I was taking Luke from it. Luke and Wedge were supposed to form the bloody unit. How did that work if they weren't together to do it?

"I like it," I heard Luke say. "If we are going to go with Princess Aurora and fight on our own, we should definitely have a different name. We don't want to confuse or infringe on Alliance operations with two separate Red Squadrons. What do you think, Wedge?"

"It could work," Wedge agreed slowly, begrudgingly. "If we convince Morvane and Laurent to join us that would give us five members. Six, actually. Dack won't stay if the rest of us leave."

I groaned again, visions of tiny Yodas throwing rocks the size of small moons at my ship before we ever entered Dagobah's atmosphere. I could so see the guy using the Force to form words in the clouds like 'Land, and toast you shall be.' I mean, Luke landing in a single X-wing was one thing. Especially given that Yoda had had warning from a meddling Obi-Wan that a house guest was coming. A freighter escorted by six fighters was more than infringing on his hospitality.

It was one Star Destroyer short of a freaking invasion.

"Woah. Woah. Woah. Let's everyone calm the freak down," I said, glaring at all of them. "I'm not taking you all with me. I can't. You need to be here, to guide the Re—the Alliance. I can't stress the importance of how much Rogu—I mean Red squadron means to the future of this galaxy. You are all meant to fly together, true, but under the command of someone like Ackbar. Not flying escort duty on a runaway Princess!"

"You're forgetting about Teela and Uli," Nova the less-than-helpful put in, shifting his arm down from my shoulder to my elbow. Effectively stopping my flailing before I accidently took someone's nose off or something. "If we are going to do this, we're going to need a competent engineer and an equally competent doctor."

I thought of me and Uli confined to the same ship for more than a ten minute time period. "Oh good grief, it _would_ have been kinder to let me die on the Death Star."

"Stop saying that," Luke snapped, a mixture of worry and sternness in his tone. "Nothing good would have come from your death, Your Highness. And nothing good will come from you dying in an Imperial trap or worse out there. You're going to need more than just one ship to do whatever it is you are planning."

"So Rogue Squadron it is," Wedge said with finality. "I'll agree to this on one condition: after we go to wherever it is and do whatever it is that Princess Aurora needs to do, we return to the Alliance. With your help, Your Highness, we can convince Admiral Ackbar to send us on a so-called 'escort/training exercise' to break in the new squadron. You are a Councilor, after all, and it would make sense to send an escort with you. It'll cover our leave of absence for a time."

"Then we are agreed," Nova rose to his feet, crossing over to Vill and Wedge. "We should probably…"

I let the conversation fall away and turned to Luke, searching his eyes with my own. "Why? Why leave? You've wanted to be a fighter pilot your whole life. Why turn your back on that now?"

For once he didn't look away. For once I couldn't call him the 'kid' or 'slick' or the 'nice boy.' His eyes were doing that too-old-for-him thing, and his posture wasn't the slightly nervous farmboy stance he normally wore. The man before me was grim and determined, a shadow of the man he would be when he became a full Jedi. An echo of the man his father had been before his great fall…

And Luke the Man put his hands on my shoulders, drawing me close. "Do you really have to ask?"

And then he kissed me, put all the reasons for going and all the reasons for staying, into that one pressing of our lips. And heaven help me, I opened for him. I let that little sniggering doubt that Leia had placed in me out of its lockbox, that tiny trace of curiosity about being Mrs. Skywalker free to explore my imagination. His arms wove around my waist, mine around his neck. And I didn't think about Praji at all. Or Thrawn. Or Thrass.

How could I? I was kissing Luke Skywalker, the son of my Master. And if I served well, I could be his bride. I had already moved up from slave to servant on the Sith Hierachy. If I was passionate enough, determined enough, I could become a Sith Noble. I could take my place beside Leia, as the wife of her brother. I could—

The kiss broke, and he smiled down at me. A small smile, an expression that I had seen on Anakin's face when looking at his Padme.

And I realized the thoughts that went through my head at that kiss weren't my thoughts at all.

Oh. Shit!

Was I… was I going to be the Padme to Luke's Anakin? Was Vader setting this whole thing up so Luke would love me and I would die and Luke would be devastated and fall to the Dark Side, perpetuating the cycle of hatred? And when did I ever want to marry Luke? When did I ever want to rule the universe beside an…

Oh double _triple_ shit! That was his plan, that had to be it! Hear me out now, because I think I just pieced his Unholy Mind Tampering Douchiness's plan together. Get this: Vader wanted the Death Star destroyed to weaken Palpatine politically, to keep his master so wrapped up in his (the Emperor) own red tape so that he (Vader) could make moves to control the entire Imperial Navy. Then he (again Vader) could overthrow the Emperor and rule the universe! With him (Luke) at his side!

Wait. That sounded like a more mind-blowing revelation in my head. In reality, that was the entire plot from ESB. Every Star Wars nut knew that.

But this time it was different. The stakes were higher, and larger players were involved in this Game of Space Thrones. This time Vader knew the future, knew the mistakes he would make thanks to my stupid giving him the knowledge. Now he had taken steps to correct those errors, put additional pawns in play to make up for those little snafus. Now he had his daughter working for him, using her to keep the Rebellion right where he wanted them. Now he had me to act like as a lure to pull his son in tighter, had that hidden personality in me that would pop up at his command. No wonder he'd taken Praji from me. He'd removed the competition for his son!

Vader was going to kill the Emperor, not to redeem himself, but to park his own mechanical ass on the Big Seat!

Sitting there on my ship, listening to good men lay the foundation of what would become Rogue Squadron, I felt myself lean into Luke. Resting my head against his shoulder. And because he had his head pressed to the crown of mine, smiling in joy that I apparently returned the feelings he thought he had for me, he couldn't see the dark smile that curved my lips.

The smile, I might add, that wasn't of my own volition.

* * *

Thrawn's eyes narrowed dangerously, and even knowing he was half the galaxy away, that his image was coming to me via the communications console in my room, I flinched hard. "You will tell me what happened," he said softly, calmly, sincerely.

Deadly.

My head snapped up of its own accord from where it had been pillowed on my knees. My arms wrapped around those knees, trying to hold my body together. I was shaking, hurting inside with not a mark on the outside to show for it.

"Lord Vader is displeased," I managed out, my voice shaking so badly I was surprised my words were intelligible. "He punished me."

"How?"

"I'm reliving my interrogation," I had to bite my lip as a fresh wave of remembered pain lanced out over me, swallowing the screams I wanted to give with all my heart. "The… the robisardic injection. He had a mental trigger in my head, I think, so he could punish me from afar with just a word. I—"

"I am aware of what that particular drug does," he cut in. "Just as I am aware of what he has done to your mind. What I'm waiting for is the why. _Why_ is he punishing you?"

Out it came. The plans to go to Dagobah, and who I was taking with me. How I was disobeying Vader's orders to stay with Leia and force the move to Hoth. And all my realizations of just what Vader was up to. When I was finished, I was hoping his features would have smoothed, that he would have some sort of reassuring thing to say to me. I received neither.

"I will have a team meet you at Dagobah," he said, his tone brooking no argument. "Be ready to leave the Rebels and return to Empire where you belong."

I couldn't believe I was going to do this, but I shook my head. "Please, don't do this. Let me… let me stay."

"No."

"Thra—"

"I said no, Mary," he said sharply, the fact that he was using my real name letting me know something more than Vader's plans of mutiny was going on. There was a… fatigue to him, tightness around his eyes that let me know he wasn't sleeping any easier than I was. "You have served your purpose. You have discovered what Vader has planned, or nearly enough to allow me to make my plans accordingly. I will not waste your life on a fruitless endeavor. You have done well and earned your reward. Come home."

"The Empire isn't my home."

"Nor was Alderaan. Nor was Abregado-Rae. Nor was any other little world you have claimed. You left enough clues in the things you said to make that abundantly clear. While I am not particularly pleased that you lied to me, I have observed you enough to know that you had your reasons. Reasons we will discuss when you are safely onboard the _Admonitor_."

"If Vader finds out that you've taken me—"

"Lord Vader will have his hands full with other problems," the coldness came back into his tone, hurting me more than the activated memories of my torture. "I will make certain of that. And if he overcomes those issues, I will have Luke Skywalker to hand to him. Yes, it is my desire to capture you all alive. And you will assist with this."

"I will? Was that another command from Lorana?"

"No," he replied, arching an eyebrow. "Simple deductive reasoning. I have told you I wish everyone taken alive. If there are those in your party that you wish destroyed, name them now. I will see it done."

"NO!"

"Then we are in agreement. Plans will be made available to you at the right time. Follow them and no one has to die."


	22. Chapter 22

A/N: Thanks again for the reviews and messages! I hope this story continues to make everyone laugh.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs. Mary own Mary. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun and I make no money from this.

* * *

Guess how easy it was to get the Council to agree to let me go wandering about the universe all on my lonesome? Pretty easily, actually. Well, at least it was when I finally got tired of Failure's beating around the bush and talking just to hear the sound of his own voice. Leia wasn't too keen on the idea of my leaving (not a huge surprise given that Vader didn't want me leave and had probably put the mental squeeze on his precious lil' darling to make me stay) anymore than she was with the way I broached the subject with the Council. In my defense, at least I was taking her advice and bringing up the issue in council. Instead of, you know, leaving a Dear John note and running off.

Admiral Ackbar and General Rieekan loved it, though. The forming of Rogue Squadron, I mean, not the part about me leaving. Like seriously were tempted to throw me a parade afterwards kind of love for it. Predictably, Failure leapt on the idea like it was wounded buffalo and he a pack of savage jungle cats. Okay, bad analogy given that Bothans were an anthropomorphized feline species, but still! Didn't anyone teach them about manners?

I thought back to my cat at home. Her name was Trouble, and trust me, she was aptly named. And the last thing in the world she would have given a crap about was manners. She would rather climb your leg like you were a living cat tree to get your attention than look at you. Staring at the way Fey'lya was growling at the council in his self-righteous speech, I could literally envision him in miniature form, scaling Mon Momtha's robes in an effort to get to a kitty treat. The treat in this situation, of course, being a permanent spot on the council.

Say, Ackbar's spot. Considering he was the commander of the armed forces, that put him pretty much on par with Mothma in terms of power.

I had never before wished for a water bottle in my life. Just to squirt Failure in the face with it and say in my best Cartman voice 'Bad kitty! Yous a bad, bad kitty! Get off the sofa—I mean the council!' No mystical water bottle appeared in my hands, and when I was fairly certain that my small intestine was going to rise up and strangle me in a vain attempt to save my sanity from Failure's constant filibustering (a la Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy), I saved my internal organs the trouble of rebelling and stood up. Literally cutting the Bothan off in mid-word.

"Sorry, ya'll, but I gotta go. This has been real… educational. Yeah, that's the polite diplomatic word. But there's still an Empire out there that isn't going to wait for us to finish telling each other how great we are before striking back. So, you all handle this committee crap. Rogue Squadron and I'll go back to doing what we do best—kicking ass and taking names. Toodles!"

Nobody really knew what to do at that point. Failure at least had shut up, but I think that was more due to his pride and his brain currently playing rock-paper-scissors to see who got to flip the switch on his mouth. Seriously, the man looked torn between outrage and wanting to cry. The upside of that being, aside from him no longer hoarking his glory all over us in word format, was that Ackbar was too busy laughing in that Mon Calamari way to notice I'd mentioned a squadron of fighters that did not exist yet. General Rieekan however, was watching me with an appraising eye. The rest of the council sorta stared at me in silence.

I beat feat towards the exit in that dramatic stillness. Eat your heart out Vivian Leigh, you aren't the only vixen that can leave a room stunned by your passing!

"Oh!" I exclaimed, turning back to face the room. "The only really important issue that we should all be discussing right now—the only one that really matters at this point in time—is getting off Teardrop. There's an Imperial Star Destroyer full of ISB buttnuggets that are about to sweep in and kill everyone in a few months. If you want to get out of here and save some civilian lives by leaving no trace of your presence, get moving now. Not now, but _now_. Otherwise you're going to leave a trail a mile long and a lot of innocent people are going to die. So, in wrap up, get your ass to Mars—err I mean Hoth. Now."

Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to reiterate the thing that Failure was trying to distract us all from. Apparently the Bothan instinctual drive to be the leader overrode the pride/brain war going on over control of his pie hole. Because suddenly his lips were all flappity flap again. Huh. Maybe Thrawn was right. I did have a tendency to talk too much.

Annnnnddddd _this_ was how I did the Mexican hat dance on the memory of him and me in the Emperor's garden, doing things that taught roses how to blush red. Really, enough already! I was beyond fed up with every time I thought of the gorgeous blue dragon that I—dammit, another memory that fast?! This time I danced the Merengue all over it and this time it was ol' Scarlet Orbs and me on the balcony of his suite in the Imperial Palace. Yeeeesh! No wonder Leia called me a courtesan. Was there one surface on the entire planet of Coruscant that _didn't_ involve me, Thrawn, and immature porn hour?!

It made me change my mind about what Vader did in his egg-shaped hyperbaric chamber. That dude wasn't reading fantasy novels when no one was looking—he was watching porn. Had to be that! Because I certainly hadn't come up with half these situations on my own (I'm not that creative, truth be told). No, all this dirty hot sexy stuff had come from him.

"… have to say for yourself now, Councilor Soresen?"

Ooops, I did it again. Brittany-Spears-style not paying attention to what was being said. Maybe I really did only listen when it was my voice that was doing the talking. That made me a hypocrite then, because I couldn't stand it when Failure did it. And I hated being a hypocrite. Hrm. Guess I owed my 'lover' an apology. Oh, wouldn't he gloat over that!

"Well," Failure prompted, his cream colored fur rippling in a way that meant extreme annoyance. "We are all waiting."

"Sorry," I said sweetly, my expression anything but. "I wasn't paying attention. You see, sugarsnap, you can take your little speeches and shove them where the sun doesn't shine. Everyone here may be too cowardly—or diplomatic I believe is the word my dear sister uses—but I'm not. I don't give two flips about you or how _you_ worked tirelessly to put _your _Bothans in place to become the best spies ever. I care that _they _died for it, and are still dying for it, while _you_ stand _here_ all safe and crap and constantly use words like 'I, me' and 'mine' and never say 'we.'"

I stepped right up to him, going nose to snout with the turd stain. "In fact, the only time you count yourselves among us mere rabble is when you go on and on about how many of _your_ people died to help _us_. Well, guess what, pal? _All _of mine are dead. My _planet_ is dead. And you don't see me sitting here trying to get better pay and position on the backs of my dead. So yeah, this is me being tired of talking or being nice or anything else like that. And I'm not asking you to consider going to Hoth, I'm telling you to go. So fuck off, Jack."

* * *

"Really," Han said, arms folded across his chest. He was leaning against the… umm… the… crap, I still didn't know what that section of the controls next to the navigation console was called. Wedge was so going to kill me. "You told Fey'lya to _kriff_ _off_ in front of the entire Council?"

From as often as I head/desked my forehead into the thing, I was surprised the nav station didn't sport an indent in the shape of my face. "Well, I didn't use that _exact_ word. So it doesn't count as cursing him out, does it?"

I heard his snort, the barely controlled laughter. "Oh, not if you want to get technical. But I think the council understood the spirit of what you were trying to say."

I groaned, and head/nav'ed again for good measure. "By 'council' I am assuming you meant 'Leia.'"

"It would be a good bet that you sister is less than thrilled with you at the moment, yeah."

"Is that why she sent you here instead of coming herself?"

"Do I have errand boy emblazoned on my chest somewhere?" he slouched into the pilot's seat. "I'm here to try and talk Luke out of going with you—"

I jumped upright. "Please?" I begged brightly. If, you know, you could beg brightly at all.

"—and convince him to come with me."

The brightness faded, and I resumed trying to make the nav station sculpt itself to my head. "Of course you would," I sighed. "Nevermind the fact that the Rebellion needs him, you'd steal him away. Always looking out for your best interests."

"Aren't you?"

I shook my head, which succeeded only in smearing my face print across the glass of the console. If I didn't clean that up before Wedge got back, he was going to kill me twice. "No. I'm planning to come back. I just have to take care of a few things first."

He smirked. I didn't have to see it to know that it happened. "Don't we all."

"Hey I'm not the one with a bounty on my head."

"I beg to differ."

That had me sitting up again. "Say what?"

Han turned the chair around, punching a few buttons on the controls until the holonet popped up in miniature between us. And there was my smiling face—probably clipped from a fake picture of me and Thrawn at some event, or me and Thrass, or even me and Lorana walking arm and arm like besties. Because nothing says more drama than having your best friend marry your man, right? Someone should really tell Vader to stop watching the soap operas in his egg. I bet he alternates between those and porn. Perv!

Regardless, beneath my smiling face was a bunch of gibberish that basically said "wanted alive and unharmed." It was signed by some faceless Imperial bureaucrat, but to me it might as well have come with big flashing neon letters that read "Vader" or "Thrawn."

I whistled low between my teeth at the bounty amount. "I'd be a rich woman if I turned myself in."

"Yeah, for about two seconds before they confiscated your reward. Prisoners are not allowed to profit from their crimes, Your Unholiness."

"Taxes, man," I sighed dramatically. "They get you coming and going, don't they?"

That earned me a lopsided grin and a laugh. A real one. And then he had to ruin our moment by getting all serious again. "You could come with us as well. The kid won't leave without you, you know. And it's not like this bounty business bothers me. I've got a price on my head and so does Chewie. One more marked person on my crew won't change my course settings any."

"Don't think I haven't thought about it," I confessed. "Between the five of us—you, me, Chewie, Nova and Slick—we could probably clean up well in the smuggler's game. But Slick and I have a worse axe hanging over our necks than just that bounty. Lord Hater isn't going to let the two of us just vanish into the sidelines. Even if we swore not to take sides in this war, it wouldn't be enough. Which makes me wonder why this bounty is out there at all, and who really sent it."

"You don't think it has anything to do with your supposed abduction?"

I shrugged a shoulder. "That's a possibility. I don't think Senior Captain Parck was pleased with letting the paramour of his mentor be taken right out from under his nose."

Something about that tickled my mind, though I couldn't put my finger on it. Something about sitting in a chair and talking with… with someone… on a screen. Which was ridiculous, because I avoided using the terminals like the plague. No idea why, really. Dr. Uli added the fact that literally broke into cold sweats and tears when I thought of using the comm to call anyone to my list of 'post traumatic stress' over the destruction of Alderaan. Seriously, the things disturbed me beyond reason. So much so that Nova was putting a lock on the one in my room.

After the last time he found me curled around myself on the floor, shaking and sobbing and apologizing for stars above knew what—because I sure didn't—he wasn't about to take any chances with me having a full freakout while we were in hyperspace.

But something… there was something to that thought of Parck and terminals… and Thrawn. I shook my head. The thought was too elusive, scattering to nothingness the harder I tried to think on it. I shrugged it away. Maybe when I was stuck on this ship with nothing to do on the way to Dagobah, I could take some time to pin that one down.

I shrugged again, glancing back up at him. "What about you?"

Han clicked off the holo. "I don't know. I never served under Parck, but an instructor of mine back at the Academy did. He said that Parck wasn't the same after he was stripped of his first command and sent with Admiral Eye Glow into the Unknown Regions on a pathetic mapping mission."

I kicked him in the shin. Playfully. And laughed. "I meant why are you leaving, dumbass. Here's just as good a place as any to hide out. At least with the Rebellion you don't have to worry about someone sending you on a bogus mission into Jabba's waiting arms in order to collect that bounty."

He leaned back again. "Thanks for not punching me this time. I still have a bruise from the last smack you gave me."

"Liar. I don't hit that hard. And you're welcome. I'm trying to overcome this punching addiction I've developed. Uli says that's yet another sign of my PTSD. Now that you've tried to change the topic—and failed—you gonna answer?"

He blanched. "You're as bad as your sister."

"Worse, actually. Failur—Fey'lya found that out today. She's the nice one."

"Nice being a relative term," he growled. "And don't belittle her ability to not be diplomatic all the time. I think she reserves that only for the council members."

"Awwww did poor little wittle Hanny-Han get his nose bit off by the big 'wocious Leia?"

This time I dodged back before he kicked my shin, which ended up in my falling out of the chair—again. Han didn't bother to try and catch me like Leia had, or offer a hand up. He was too busy laughing and trying not to fall out of his own chair. Seriously, I know space ships aren't the roomiest of places to hang around in, but they should really look into installing chairs that weren't meant for toddlers. When I wasn't ready to snark at Han, I'd have to ask him if the seats in the Falcon were custom orders, and where I could get a couple.

"Payback," he grinned as I clambered back into my seat.

"Bite me," I retorted, puffing my hair out of my face. "And that was as good an answer as any."

The grin slipped off his lips. "What?"

Annndddd slipped right onto mine. "Just the way your face looked when you were talking about my sister. You like her. It's pretty clear. Just admit it out loud already."

"You mean way you and Luke like for each other?"

Annnnnddd there went the grin. "That's… complicated."

Han smirked. "Anything that has to do with you Organa sisters is complicated. Any sane man would run away from the both of you for all he was worth."

"Which leaves you out, then, Flyboy, 'cus you're still here."

He glanced out the forward viewport, his eyes clouding over with something not happy. Not happy at all. "Not for long," he muttered.

I sighed. "Han, whatever it is, you can tell her. She's only this snotty with you because she likes you, too. And you know that, so don't go all acting like it's some stellar news flash. You can read people pretty well, even when your heart gets in the way."

"I can," he agreed. Not prideful or anything like that. Just acknowledging the facts. "Which is why I'm wondering what caused you to snap today at the council meeting. Not that many here are upset by it, mind you. Ackbar and Rieekan have been strutting around the base like kids given the best Lifeday present yet. So much so that they both bullied Mon Mothma into keeping you on the council."

_What caused me to snap today? Oh, let's just count the ways. For one, I'm not the most patient person in the universe and Failure could drive Mother Theresa into a cussing fit with his constant ego driven diatribes! For another, I'm a walking talking time bomb and tape recorder all rolled into one. So is Leia, thanks to her Papa reshaping our brainwaves. Not to mention that he somehow twisted those brainwaves so that the more time we spend together, the more we destroy each other's real personalities and give these fake ones room to grow! And… and…_

And did he just say that Ackbar and Rieekan fought to keep me _on_ the council?

I blinked. "You mean she kicked me off?"

"After a display like that, yes," Han nodded. "She didn't have much choice. Leia couldn't argue with her over it, which put her in a worse mood. Ackbar and Rieekan got Mon to reconsider, granting Wedge's request to form Rogue Squadron on the condition that he take you with him as a sponsor for the training runs. Something about giving time for tempers to cool and diplomacy to prevail."

"Diplomacy," I sighed, fitting my forehead into my imagined niche on the nav console. "The art of letting everyone walk all over you."

"You won't find me arguing that."

"Agreed. So basically what you are telling me is that I've been exiled until I can agree to play nice with all the other kids in the sandbox."

"I'm fairly certain that Fey'lya is going to demand a public apology before you're allowed back into the meetings, too."

"Tell him to hold his breath. So isn't going to happen."

Han patted me on the head. "I can see you are heartbroken about the whole thing."

"Honestly, I am," I mocked. "Seriously, there may even be tears… of joy!"

He laughed, rising to his feet. "Luke's on his way back here. Just glimpsed him and the rest of Rogue Squadron out the window. Looks like they got the clearance to leave. It's my last chance to change the kid's mind before he gets himself killed. That offer is still open, Rori. Any time you want to leave this mess, give me a comm. "

I lifted my head. "That goes both ways, gorgeous. Any time you want to go legit, comm me. And don't leave without saying something to Leia. If you break my sister's heart, I'm going to have to break your legs. Regardless of how Chewie would have to break mine in return. Life debt and all that."

He tossed me one of his trademark lopsided grins. "Received loud and clear, Your Unholiness. Take care out there."

"You, too."

* * *

Leia didn't come to say goodbye, which was unexpected and expected all at once. Unexpected because—and you better sit down before I say this—I had won. My outburst and subsequent exile was the wake-up call that the Alliance leadership needed. Or rather my almost dividing the Council in half with my outburst and subsequent exile forced Mon to choose between a crumbling Alliance or give into my demands. Not the best bit of diplomacy ever, but my temper tantrum had gotten the job done.

In essence, the Rebellion was pulling off Teardrop and headed to Hoth. Mission accomplished. Lord Hater would be so pleased. And if the Man in Black didn't just super-nuke Hoth into a giant steaming bowl of Rebellion Noodle Soup, we'd pick up with our friends there after Dagobah.

What _was_ Hater's angle in wanting the Rebels to go there anyway? I just couldn't figure it out.

Just like I couldn't figure out why I was so sad all of a sudden.

I wanted to beat my head in with my own fists as the disappointment and hurt swirled in me. I mean, she wasn't my real sister or even my adopted one. But my heart really didn't care if the memories in me were fakes or the real McCoy. All it knew was that a large chunk of what made it function on a day to day basis was now mad at it—clarification: _disappointed_ in it—and was willing to let it go into the vastness of space and possibly never see it again without so much as saying take care.

Logically, I knew this was another punishment from Vader. Credits to donuts (or whatever passed as delicious fried sugar bombs in this galaxy) he knew how we would react to being separated under less than happy terms and he was playing that up hard core. He was keeping Leia away from me to hurt me for interrupting his plans. But the logic center of my brain was having troubles convincing my tear ducts of the validity of its claims.

So out with the waterworks I went, sitting behind Teela Dance as she served as co-pilot, listening to the counter ping every downward to our launch mark. All around us in escort formation was the newly christened Rogue Squadron, the X-wings looking like overkill around my beat up _Runaway Princess_.

Yes, they changed the name finally. If only because it was agreed that I fly under a new ID for my own protection. I was again voted down on the idea of the name Serenity. _Runaway Princess_ made everyone laugh, and thusly it won the vote. Entertainment value over functionality. I shouldn't be surprised. Just look at any one of our popular votes during the presidential elections. Guarantee you that many a vote wasn't cast based on research and deep thought on the candidate's political platforms. More than likely it was cast after watching one debate on the television.

Hence, whichever candidate entertained them the most won. Maybe it was time for a new election system. We could create a reality show out of it. Call it American Presidential Gladiators or something. Hey, if reality TV could turn people like JWOWW into millionaires worshiped by billions, it could definitely pick a president.

And those thoughts weren't helping. It only served to make me homesick. And being homesick produced this guilty-nausea based feeling in me. Because my brain now flickered between my tiny cramped apartment in Manhattan, my lovely breathtaking views from the lavish apartment I had shared with Thrass and then with Thrawn on Coruscant, and my memories of a childhood spent on Alderaan.

Notice I didn't say a childhood spent on Earth. I couldn't remember it anymore. There were flashes, faint and grainy, like looking at photographs far too faded to make anything out with distinction. But all those memories of growing up on Alderaan, of Bail and Breha's laughing faces and warm affections… those were as sharp as tacks. The only way I remembered my real parents—as in the ones that gave birth to me on EARTH—was because Vader had left them in there as my dead parents before Bail adopted me.

A reminder, and a torment, of his dual natured generosity and cruelty.

Nova looked up suddenly from the flight controls, glancing at my reflection in the viewport. The look on his face wasn't happy. "Teela, you think you can get this crate into hyperspace in one piece on your own?"

Teela looked askance at him, but nodded. "No problem. Why?"

"Nature calls," he replied, unsnapping his restraints.

He barely waited for me to undo mine before catching my hand up in his and leading me into the bowels of our ship. I didn't argue. Not even when he pulled me into the nearest room and locked the door behind us. Not even when he pulled me into his arms and held me.

That was all. Just held me. And I sobbed. I sobbed as if my heart had been broken.

"She didn't say goodbye," I cried. "Just sent some stupid message with that protocol droid. It's possible that we'll never see each other again, and she didn't say goodbye."

"I know," he said. "And I'm so sorry, Mary."

I started in his arms, looked up at him. "Why did you call me that?"

"Because it's your name," he replied, cupping my face in his hands suddenly and peering very intently into my eyes. That unhappy look grew less happy by the minute. "Where were you born?"

"On Alderaa—I mean… I was… My parents…"

No, for once that wasn't Vader's blocks in my head. That was me actually struggling to remember where I was born! I had to think hard, to dig around in the great vault that was my memories to find what should have been readily available to my lips. Nova let me look away, hands returning to my shoulders. And held me anew as the sobs returned full force.

"I can't remember, Nova!" I hissed into his chest. "It's so difficult and so unimportant right now. With all that is going on in the galaxy, I can't be focusing on trivial things."

"Are you listening to yourself, Mary? Really hearing the words that you are saying? Since when haven't you cared about your life before you came here? No offense, but you are one of the most self-centered people I've ever met. Name one instance when you haven't thought of yourself."

He was right on all accounts, and probably the only person in the galaxy that could call me narcissistic and make it into a soothing compliment, too. It made that feeling in my stomach worse. Wouldn't it be better to just stop trying to remember? It wasn't like anything in my former life mattered a whit here. All it brought me was misery and pain. And brought misery and pain to others. People like Praji, who had a head as jacked up as mine at the moment. A man that I was never going to see again if I kept clinging to this useless past!

Except, whispered a tiny voice in my head, that Praji doesn't love Rori. Praji loves _Mary_. With all her memories and her crazy vain egotistical ways. If only because he was just as crazy, vain and egoistical.

I gritted my teeth, focused on a pair of gorgeous deep blue eyes. Ignored everything Leia had told me at the beginning of this ordeal and turned him into my rock, my center, my calming port in a storm. "I was born on E—"

Okay, _that_ time it was Hater's roadblocks on my mental map stopping those thoughts from becoming words. It took some hard digging, rooting around in the swill that was my cursed index of personal history, to pull out the truth. I was Mary Vasquez, and I was born on Earth. New York was home. Bartender by trade. And somehow I had to get Hater's crap out of my brain, had to fix Nahdonnis's brain, and Leia's too. Oh, and put the Lucas-verse back on track before I could finally go home.

"We're on our way, Mary," Nova soothed. "Hold on. Give me some time and we'll fix you."

I nodded into his shoulder, clinging tightly. "I'll do my best. That was a close one, though. For a moment… for a real moment I was Rori and the… you know… was the fake one. It's like the more I hurt the more I accept the thing that doesn't hurt that much."

"Leaving without settling things between you and Leia was a great emotional pain."

I nodded again, miserably. "So much so that I couldn't breathe past it. And apparently that's all that's needed to let the fake crap slip past my defenses," and then my head snapped up so fast that only his combat reflexes kept it from slamming into his chin. "If it's hurting me that badly, what is it doing to Leia? She's—I mean—"

"Calm down, calm down. I know what you are trying to say. I'll send a message to Han as soon as you are calm. He'll be the distraction she needs. We've got this covered, remember? We'll get through this."

"You really are awesome, Nova. I'm glad… I'm so glad that you're here."

We stared at one another, that bad silence descended over us. You know the kind. The one where you and your best friend of the opposite gender are in a confined space together, and you both had wondered at some point or another what it would be like to kiss. Everything inside you is screaming WRONG BAD NO DON'T DO IT DON'T EFF UP A GOOD FRIENDSHIP WITH TAKING IT TO THE WRONG LEVEL NO NO NO NO NO NONONO! Yeah, ask anyone. Nobody ever listens to that voice. Especially when we should.

Even thinking that he was like a brother to me couldn't stop what was happening. Not with his arms around me and how nicely I fit against him, cuddled to his chest. I was cold and alone and afraid and he was there and comforting and warm and not destined to marry a Force-welding red-head and… His head dipped of its own accord and mine tipped back. My eyes closed and I held my breath—

—and was summarily thrown to the floor as the ship hit hyperspace. Nova landed beside me on hands and knees rather than being flopped about like an old dish rag. Like me. And just like that the moment was gone. We were laughing. Two idiots knowing that the ship they were on was about to hit lightspeed and we hadn't bothered to strap ourselves into anything. Two idiots that had barely escaped making a serious mistake.

"Okay, new plan," I giggled. "Next time this happens, punch me until I'm unconscious. You're all about that martial arts stuff. You could do it in one hit and I wouldn't even feel it."

He laughed. "Or, I could skip the physical assault and just send Luke with you instead. In fact, we should probably send him a message that you're okay. I can sense his worry over what he felt from you."

"Can you send him a feel-o-gram that I'm right as rain?"

"Feel-o-gram?"

I shrugged, letting him help me to my feet. "It sounded better than drama bomb."

Because stars alone knew that was what we would face the moment we touched down on Dagobah.


	23. Chapter 23

A/N: Sorry so long between updates! Projects at work have eaten my life. Plus, this chapter took a while for me to write. It started to go way too serious and I had to rewrite it about five times. So please forgive me if it's not up to par with the other chapters. This one is for everyone that wanted to see Mary and Yoda interact. Or wanted to see Mary and Luke interact. This is the first of many such conversations. ::grins wildly::

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs. Mary owns Mary. Everything else is owned by everyone else. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun.

* * *

Dagobah.

Even from a distance it didn't look like a planet. It looked like whatever ended up in your tissue after you blew your nose during a sinus infection. All green and yellow and gooey and just… mergh. Maybe that's what Dagobah translated in to: giant puss-filled snot-ball. No wonder there were no listed indigenous sentient populations to this planet. After obtaining space travel and realizing they basically lived on a the galaxy's only giant booger, they'd probably pulled up all stakes and didn't even bother to hang the intergalactic "FOR SALE" sign across the equator.

Probably figured that anyone that landed there willingly got what they deserved. And there we were, all ready to descend into the heart of it like a suction bulb going after a clogged nasal passageway.

Urgh. I should probably lay off the nose gold references before I made myself and anyone else sick. Sometimes I hated having a vivid imagination. And not just because I could remember all the horrors in my life thanks to it.

At least, I used to be able to. Things like… like… wasn't there some holodrama about people who couldn't sing but were trying to anyway? And something about a bunch of dilbag airheads on a planet called Shore in the system of Jersey? I shook my head. It was all foggy now, like trying to remember a bad dream after waking. And the only reason I thought about it in the first place was because I knew I tortured Lord Vader with it at one point.

At least I think I did? Hrm, it was something I would have to ask my sister when we spoke again. _If_ we ever spoke again. I groaned faintly as I turned away from the viewport in the _Runaway Princess's_ main lounge, pressing a hand to my forehead. Luke shifted beside me on the sofa, pulling me gently until my head rested on his chest.

"Headache back?" He asked softly.

I murmured something that should have been an agreement. These headaches were happening all the time now, like the closer we got to Dagobah, the worse they became. Something dark was waiting for us there, something that had me waking at night with screams, sobbing into Luke's chest. Yet whenever I tried to explain it, the thoughts would vanish. Very literally like the dream flickering away as you woke from the nightmare. It all added up to a very bitchy Princess. I'd lost count of the many fights I'd started with my crew for no reason. And now, more than ever the information was on the tip of my tongue. We were finally in orbit around Dagobah.

But whatever I had wanted to say was lost under the delicious feel of his chest, the warmth of him that always seemed to be hotter than anyone had a natural right to be. Maybe it was all those years living in a desert, or maybe it had to do with being so strong in the Force. I didn't know. I was as dense as a brick when it came to Force stuff. But I did know that I loved the feeling of him, of his heat.

It always chased away the headaches and the flittering mind-ghosts that tried to show me things that were unimportant. Like bad singing competitions and such. It was enough that I was here with him, that we were together. That the uncontrollable pressure inside my mind was eased by simply being with him. And once we reached Hoth, I knew that pressure would go away forever.

Master would be pleased with me. And that was truly all that mattered.

Master? I didn't have a master. I wasn't a Jedi and didn't only Jedi have masters?

_Nahdonnis, I'm so sorry—_

Wait… who said that?

Luke laughed softly as my lips placed little butterfly kisses on his chest through the thin fabric of his shirt. That sound washed away the momentary doubt and the faint sound of a name in my thoughts. Of course I didn't have a master. I was a Princess. I was free of Thrass and Thrawn finally. And being here with Luke was the best decision I had ever made. I couldn't wait to call Leia when our radio silence ended. She had been right all along. I didn't need some imperial that loved his career more than he loved me.

I didn't need a man that had kidnapped me, locked me in a cell for days with a gag on my mouth. And then had the audacity to fall in love with me in the process. Screw Praji and his amazing dark blue eyes and—

_Oh god, Nahdonnis, I am so sorry. This isn't me. This isn't ME! I don't want to do this. I want to be with y—_

Seriously, was I the only one that heard that?

"Rori?" Luke asked, cupping my face in his hands. Concern practically vibrated up through his body into mine. "Rori, look at me. Are you sure you're alright? Should I call Nova and Uli again?"

I stared down into his sky blue eyes, mouth opened to scream for him to do just that… and once again promptly forgot why. Forgot the reason why I froze in his arms, why I was suddenly terrified. Forgot the shadows of pain and a life where I tended bar for paper credits. I was looking into the only set of blue eyes that mattered to me. The here, the now. That was all that was important. And some past fling with an influential member of the Praji family was just that—a past fling. I was a Princess. I did not consort with low-ranking Imperials, regardless of how much money his family had!

I was a Princess. And sitting beside me was a Prince. What more could a girl want?

"No," I said, turning my head and kissing his palm. "No, everything is fine. Everything is perfect. So much so that I don't want to go down to the planet. Can't we stay like this forever? Just you and me?"

His smile turned a touch sad. "No, Rori, I'm afraid we can't. Nova and I have to go down there. The draw… the pull to go is too strong. And Ben said that we should, that you should, too."

Tears filled my eyes, spilling down my cheeks. "Everything will change, Luke," I whispered. "I don't want things to change."

"We can't help that," he said, pulling me to him again until I was straddling him, his arms wrapping around me tightly. My head resting on his shoulder. "But I can promise you that I'll help you. Whatever is scaring you so much, I'll be here to help you fight it. I won't let you go."

Blue dragons fluttered behind my closed lids, glowing red eyes peering at me from a computer terminal, promising me the same thing. _Did you really think I would let you go… _

I flinched from that memory, curling up tighter around my Prince. Nightmares. That was all that was. I was having nightmares again because I'd dared run away from the most dangerous man in uniform. Yes, that had to be it. I had chosen Luke over him. And I was feeling guilty because he and his brother had literally saved me from starvation after father had kicked me out.

But the heart wants what the heart wants, right? So why was I thinking of blue eyes that did not belong to Luke, that did not belong to Thrawn, either.

_Nahdonnis, I'm sorry! I beg you, please forgive me! I'm fighting and I'm losing and I can't control it much longer and Vader's so powerful and he's eating my mind piece by piece and I can feel it and it HURTS so badly and I want to die and please understand that I never meant for any of this to happen and I was only trying to help— _

The door to the lounge hissed open and Nova strolled in. I felt Luke tense beneath me, his arms less sure of their hold on me. Inwardly, I rolled my eyes. Was he always going to react this way when the help walked in? Granted, I was a Princess and this wasn't exactly the perfect image of propriety, what with me wrapped around Luke like a cheap whore. But it wasn't like everyone on the ship was ignorant of the thing between us. For the past week and a half of travel, it was blatantly obvious that we were together.

Hell, half his squad mates gave up part of their rotation inside the _Runaway_ so that Luke could have it. Well, except for Vill, and I couldn't blame him for that. Teela wanted time with her husband when she could, and I'd be twice the hypocrite if I denied her time with her X-wing-flying man just so I could have more time with mine.

Still, I suppose it was part of what made him a Prince, his willingness to protect what little reputation I had left. Hard to be all proper when the whole galaxy knew I had 'played Parcheesi' with Admiral Thrawn and Lord Thrass.

It took Nova clearing his throat politely before I gave up and peeled myself off of Luke. "We're ready to land," Nova said, his voice cool. He, above anyone else on the ship, had severe reservations about my relationship with Luke. Some people, I swear! "Wedge thinks it's a good idea for all Rogues to be in their ships when we try this. The atmosphere of Dagobah has some very strange magnetic readings that could blind our scopes. The more active ships we have, the better our chances of rescuing any that go down in the process."

Luke nodded reluctantly. "I'll go and get ready," he said, stopping only to plant a chaste kiss on the top of my head. "See you on the ground."

"Sure," I murmured, watching him leave, and then rounding on Nova. "Really? You couldn't have just called that down over the comm.?"

His eyes shimmered with annoyance. "No, I couldn't. And I'm glad for that. Tell me, what's your roommate's name?"

Oh by the Emperor's left nut, we were back to this again? Honestly, all his drilling me about some other person's life was just getting old. Worse, it brought the headache back full force, and the look I gave him could have melted Hoth for that alone. "I don't have time for this."

He crossed his arms over his chest. "Make time."

"No."

And I watched in barely restrained outrage as his hand so casually reached over and _LOCKED THE DOOR_ with his private code. Not for the first time in the past week did I hate myself for surrendering full control of _MY_ ship to him. Giving him the power to lock everything out of my grasp. I rose to my feet and stomped over to him. What moment of insanity had ever prompted me to do that?

"Get out of my way."

"Not until you answer the question, Mary."

"Stop calling me that."

"Why?"

"Because it's not my name."

His eyebrows drew down so far I thought they were going to crawl down his nose like caterpillars. "Tell me the name of your roommate, Mary."

"I said to stop calling me that. If you are going to continue to address me by your own pet names, I will be forced to have you call me Your Highness, or Princess Aurora. Now stand aside and let me pass."

He didn't move. And when I grabbed his arm to make him, I might as well have been trying to push-start this ship with my bare hands. It wasn't happening.

"How dare you!" I seethed. "You are my bodyguard. You will do as you are told. My head hurts and I would like to see Dr. Uli now. So please, get out of my way."

"Answer the question and I will."

I threw my hands in the air in exasperation. "Did Leia put you up to this? Is this another reminder of the bad choices I have made in my life? Fine, I'll tell you. After father kicked me out of the Royal Court, my first 'roommate' was Lady Threnody as a personal favor to Lord Thrass. Afterwards, I did _room_ with Lord Thrass. And after that, I _roomed_ with Admiral Thrawn. My current _roommate_ is Luke Skywalker. There, are you satisfied?"

Part of me stood there, waiting for the pain. Expecting to feel the flat of his palm against my cheek, expecting to fly backwards from the force of the blow. Images kept coming to me of Nahdonnis Praji, knowing he would have never put up with that kind of sass from me. He'd have slapped the sense back into me in a heartbeat, and I would have leapt to my feet and rang his proverbial bell just as loudly for slapping me in the first place. Even if he was in the right, no one hit me. Period. End of freaking list.

And then we would have fallen on each other, ripping clothing to shreds in our desire to… well, you know.

But… but that was ridiculous, wasn't it? I was a Princess. I was Luke's _Rori_. And whatever twisted games I played with an Imperial in the past shouldn't matter—

_Nahdonnis! I'm sorry!_

I stumbled away, clutching my head in my hands. "Why are you doing this to me?"

Nova's hands gripped my shoulders, pulling me upright. "I'm trying to protect you, Mary. Like I promised. Your name is Mary Vasquez, remember? And you were not born on Alderaan. You weren't even born in this galaxy. You were a bartender before you came here. Try, Mary. Try and remember."

My head spun, the world awash in pain. "I… can't… it hurts. Nova, please stop… stop hurting me."

"You have to remember. You have to fight. I know you are in there, Mary. Tell me what started this, what triggered this in you. Ever since that last stop on Yoma for refueling, you've been rapidly deteriorating. Tell me what happened. Tell me something that is true."

Yoma, that small backwater smuggler's moon. I remembered it. Remembered going off the ship with Teela for some girl time. She'd been locked onto the prison planet of Despayre for so long that she'd forgotten what it was like to just window shop. We'd bought tea together, and a new dress for her to impress Vill with. She'd picked up a small meal for the two of them to share in the tiny scrap of grasslands that place had called a public park. Planning a private moment for the bits of time we had in real gravity for a change.

But someone had bumped into me on the street, someone that had a blue dragon on his tunic. And we'd spoken. And I'd cried. And I'd begged. And… and…

I couldn't remember. I didn't want to remember. It was all too horrible. And there was nothing I could do about it. Nothing I could do to stop it!

"I don't want to be here," I said truthfully, pouring all the honesty I'd ever possessed into that one statement. "Nova, bad things are going to happen. Can't we just go to Hoth?"

He shook his head, pulling me into a fierce hug. "Hold on, Mary. Just a little longer. Hold on."

* * *

Holding on was really good advice. Like, probably the best advice I'd ever received in my life. And I did, though I think the death grip I had on the armrests of my chair wasn't what he'd hand in mind when he'd said those words. I couldn't help it, though! Trying to land on Dagobah was like trying to see through a bulkhead. Like trying to remember who I was and why I was here in the first place. Hold on, Nova had said. Yeah, I was doing that and then some!

Nothing but flat grayness filled the transparisteel viewport, the scopes all dead, or whirring out of control trying to lock onto… anything really. Both Teela and Nova were bent over the controls, sweat pouring off of them as they fought to keep the Runaway from becoming the next great land mass on one of Dagobah's forbidden continents.

"Any luck?" Nova asked between gritted teeth, hands locked so hard onto the steering yoke that I thought he was going to rip it free from the console.

Teela shook her head. "Negative. Lost all communications with Rogue Squadron. If they are having as much trouble with atmospheric entry as we are, they are essentially flying blind, too."

"Wonderful," Nova growled. "Hopefully they followed Luke's advice and slave rigged their ships to his. That way they have a chance of landing together."

"You certain that you know where you are putting us down? I can't tell solid rock from water vapor right now. If you can't figure it out, we might slam into the ground at this speed. No amount of shielding in the Empire would save us from that."

Nova closed his eyes. I tried hard to have faith in the Force. And to pray that he did, too. Because that was probably all that was going to save us from finding out how our spines looked. (i.e. because our entire skeletal structures would have gone right through our brains—literally—at an impact like that). Even the gravity projectors were having issues keeping up with sharp dive Nova had us angled in. I wouldn't have been surprised if the ship was perpendicular to the ground at this rate.

And that was never conducive to landing all flat and level. I wasn't a physics major, but even I was fairly certain this was probably the exact opposite of how we were supposed to approach a landing. Unless a miracle presented itself, we were in for a really interesting landing. As in Wash's deadpanned definition in Firefly: 'Oh god oh god we're all going die?' kind of landing.

And speaking of miracles, just when I was about to give up what little I'd eaten for lunch, Nova suddenly yanked up on the controls. The _Runaway _went from a giant plunging whale seeking friendship with the ground into a giant stone skimming across some rather nasty looking water. Someone was screaming at that, and it took me a minute to realize it was me. And Uli. And Teela. And even Nova.

In fact, I think I was the last person to stop screaming when the ship finally grinded—literally—to a stop. It would be fair to note that the reason I stopped screaming at all was due to Doc Uli finally putting his hand over my mouth.

"Rori," he said, a bit of an annoyed and yet amused smile on his mouth. "We've stopped. We're alive. Now please stop screaming?"

I stared at him for a long moment—still screaming for good measure—pondering how I should react. If he thought we were fine by being stranded on a giant swamp of a planet, then he was the one that needed to 'hold on' to his sanity. If he thought we were okay simply because we weren't falling from the sky anymore, then he was only half right. Just because we weren't dying from impact didn't meant the things around us weren't spoiling for a fight.

Nova and Teela busied themselves with slapping at switches and checking bits of the ship. Probably trying to assess damage. I unbuckled my restraints, leaping towards the short range comm. button. Those I didn't have any problems with. It was the long range comm. that made me want to piss myself with fear. I still couldn't touch the bloody thing.

"Luke? Wedge? Anyone? Copy? Over?"

Static filled the cabin, and I fought not to cry.

"Nova," I asked. "Can you feel anything?"

He looked up at me, shook his head slowly. "There's too much life here, Rori. Like the entire planet is alive. I can't pick out one life form from another."

Ah, no wonder the little guy chose to hide here. In a planet teeming with enough life to make a PETA member decide to take up hunting, the power of his Force signature could be completely submerged here without anyone noticing. Smart move.

Unfortunately that little revelation wasn't helping us figure out where all of Rogue Squadron had landed… and if they were all still alive. Apparently that idea struck Teela, too. We exchanged a glance, bonding in that OMG-my-man-is-lost-in-the-woods-Deliverance-style way before she belted on a blaster, slapping the release to the landing ramp lock

"Then we best see what's out there," she muttered. "If the Rogues made it down safely, there's bound to be signs."

"Okay, just stay out of the water," I said, adding my own blaster to my outfit.

"Why, are there sharks in it, too?"

I glared at her. Like, really gave her the stink eye. And the evil eye. And, uh, about any eye I could think of. Which wasn't much given all I could think about was finding Luke. "I take it Han told you about that?"

Even in her fear for her husband, she still had enough sense to smirk at that. "Yes, he told almost everyone about that. Given that I helped build part of the Death Star, I can say for certain that the garbage compaction shoots were not large enough to hold a shark."

"Remind me to punch him in the head for that."

Nova appeared to go almost boneless in his chair. "Oh, thank the Force, it's you again. Aurora wouldn't threaten to punch anyone. Only Mary would do that."

I fought the urge to show him just how much I enjoyed that part of my personality. But I had promised Han and Uli that I would try to stop expressing myself through violence. It was too close to the Dark Side, not to mention that Han was tired of the bruises and Uli was tired of treating him _for_ the bruises. I still failed to understand how that was my problem. At any rate, again, this wasn't getting us close to finding Luke and the rest of the Fallen Rogue Stars.

Maybe if I make a wish on them, things would stop being so strange. Like, say, having moments where I wasn't myself and making everyone miserable over it. That was my one consolation prize in this mess—the fact that only the crazy Leia seemed to like Princess Aurora. Everyone else remembered the real me, the Mary me. They remembered the gal crazy enough to punch smugglers, save stormtroopers from said smugglers, and orchestrate the rescue of three rebel pilots from her former lover's Star Destroyer.

Well, when I looked at my accomplishments that way, I was kinda bad-ass, wasn't I?

"Okay, I owe you, Nova. You're right. She does tend to float off into her own world for no reason. In the middle of a conversation, no less."

"I've learned to love it," Nova replied, finally giving up on bringing any systems back to life and unstrapping from what was left of the pilot's chair. "It means I'm dealing with someone insane enough to actually care about the people she works with."

"Seriously!" I snapped. "Luke and Wedge and Vill and the rest are somewhere over the smelly rainbow without the ruby slippers, and you're all getting huffy that I tuned you out for a second to concentrate on me?"

"I rest my case," Teela said.

Nova chuckled.

I answered with sign language. What can I say? I'm a fan of the tried and true classics of expressing myself with a single finger. No muss, no fuss. Simplicity at its finest.

"If you're done poking fun at the only person that knows an iota of stuff about this place, can we please get on with the rescue?" I snapped again. "And seriously, stay out of the water. There may not be sharks, but there sure are a bunch of things that like to eat droids. And maybe people."

"One of these days, Rori, you're going to have to tell me how you know what you know," she said quietly, heading for the landing hatch. "What with being a complete spacehead."

"Number one: screw you. Number two: You aren't the first one to say that to me," I sighed, following her. "And as soon as I am able to tell you, I will. I just… can't right now."

It didn't take long for Nova and Uli to join us. Just as it didn't take us long to locate the one sentient life from on the planet. Master Yoda sat on a tree stump at the base of our landing ramp, garbed in his frayed Jedi robe, gently chewing on a gimmer stick. Something shifted in me at the sight, something dark and cold and strangely slimy sliding behind my eyes. His large orbs met mine, and it felt like the entire universe had narrowed down to this one single moment.

I never had time to react. To blink. To become more than a passenger behind my own eyes.

Because orders buried deep into my head, shoved there that night that I lay on the deck of the Death Star, staring at the red lights as a certain Sith Lord crawled through my brain matter. And suddenly all those moments of hearing myself screaming made sense, the words finally clear. My prayer to the universe, my plea to the only person on this side of the galaxy that gave a damn about me.

_Nahdonnis I— _

This was it. This was my purpose. This is what my Master wanted of me.

Sorrow filled the real me more than anything else. Sadness that I would never get to see him again and explain everything. I should have trusted him, told him everything. Maybe if I had, I wouldn't be here like this now, playing my part in this nightmare that should not be.

—_never meant for any of this to happen and—_

"Wait for you a long time, I have," the tiny little freak said. "Time it is to remove that which blinds you."

—_I was only trying to help and— _

I lifted my hand, the blaster held in a white-knuckled grip. "Time to die at long last, Master Yoda. Lord Vader sends his regards."

—_please understand that—_

I pulled the trigger.

_I loved you._


	24. Chapter 24

A/N: And here it is! Well, here is one of many conversations with Yoda that have been requested, speculated upon, etc. ) I hope you all enjoy it. Thanks again for all the favorites, follows, reviews and private messages. As always, I try to respond to every one of them.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs. Mary owns Mary. Everything else is owned by everyone else that owns it. This is purely for fun. Please don't sue.

* * *

Everything went to shit at once. And for the life of me, I couldn't figure out why. There I was, blaster held triumphantly in hand, mouth spouting such cheesy and overused lines that you would think I was auditioning for the role of the bad guy in latest Tarantino flick. And while we're on the topic of how my life couldn't possibly get any worse, would somebody _PLEASE_ smack Vader's hands away from the mental typewriter and let someone else have a whack at writing my speeches? Like, say, a dead gnat or something? Because if I have to say another line like 'Lord Vader sends his regards,' I'm liable to blast myself in the head.

Then again, what could I expect from the guy that would oh so gently explain to his baby boyo that he was the deadbeat dad that left him to suffer on a desert planet without the benefit of child support. The guy's a SITH LORD for crying out loud with a whole fleet of Star Destroyers. How hard could it have been to cough up a couple grand a month to keep his son in diapers and crap? And he decided to spring this on the poor kid _after_ chopping off his hand, no less! Seriously, remind me to have a chat with Lord Bad-Timing about appropriate instances for certain conversations. There were much easier ways to break the news than after trying to kill your offspring.

Like, say, the Jerry Springer show for one. He's always hosting a Who's Your Daddy episode. Hell, it even comes with free mediation and counseling if you want to reconcile.

Anyway, tangent aside, it should have been easy to try and pop a couple caps in Yoda's ass and then wait for everyone else to pile drive my sorry butt in oblivion, right? No such luck. Remember, this isn't my story. I'm not the hero. I'm the comic relief sidekick. Nothing we do ever goes according to plan.

It was like after I pulled the trigger something slammed hard into my mind. All I knew was that everything went dark and then bright, and a stinging kind of heat exploded behind my eyeballs. Whatever it was, it burned away part of the slimy dark thing that had taken up residence in my brain, forcing it to hide deeper in my grey matter, forcing my blaster shot to go wide of its mark. And for what felt like the first time since I woke up all Princessed out courtesy of a trip through Hater's Evil Princess Emporium, I felt like I could take a deep cleansing breath.

Too bad that breath was full of swamp smells.

Frankly, I wasn't sure who was the most surprised at how events had turned out: me or Yoda. Then again, it was pretty hard to tell, what with the fact that I was mobbed and thrown to the ground like a tackled quarterback attempting to complete a fifty yard rush into the in-zone. That's about how my first foray into the realm of assassination sorted out in the end. Me, face first into the dirt, and everybody on my back.

Oh, and for the record, swamp water tastes bad in this galaxy, too. No idea why I would have thought differently. But just so you know.

I came up sputtering and coughing, Nova's arms pinning mine back in a full nelson hold. He had done something with his stance so I couldn't kick at him. Literally no matter where I aimed, my foot found only empty air. Either he was doing some strange sadistic two-step with me, or he genuinely had me in some superman hold in which I couldn't touch a single part of him. Teela had my blaster in her hand, thumb doing a really ease push on the switch that turned it from a weapon of death into the worst kind of sleeping aid ever.

I.e. it was set for stun now, and the look on her face said she would relish the idea of turning me into Sleeping Beauty for real.

I groaned aloud, flinching. Those stun things hit you like a mother. I mean, you were out cold before you registered the electricity shorting out your mental light bulb, but that wasn't the part that blowed. It was the waking up, the feeling like someone had expertly twisted every muscle in your body into knots and then left you to figure out how to untangle the mess. It took a while, and it sucked the big one. And the closer you were to the origin of the stun bolt, the more it hurt when you woke up.

Trust me, after eating blue waves from literally a foot away thanks to Lord Stuns-A-Lot (aka Lord Thrass) on the Death Star, I knew firsthand how much this was going to hurt. Given that Teela was less than a foot away from me? Well, I was expecting to come to doing a lot more than screaming. Probably flailing like a mad woman and looking to shove my foot so far up her pretty little ass that she'd find herself coughing up shoe leather for weeks. If she pulled that trigger she was so off the Christmas Card List. Like, forevers.

"Unnecessary, that is," the Yoda the Magnificent said, pushing himself up to his feet. Apparently instead of Force chopping me in the face, he'd opted to simply dodge my attempt to put one between is eyes. "Shoot her, you should not. For now, the danger has passed."

Teela seriously looked torn, like she would really love to shoot me. What was it about me that made people want to commit random acts of violence? It was something I would have to ask myself later, another question on the long list of self-analysis queries I was discovering about myself the longer I spent in this galaxy. Huh. Maybe I would finally figure out why I had an obsession with Converse shoes and blue-eyed dilholes.

And come to think of it, when was the last time I thought about Commander Asshat anyway? It felt like forever, honestly. And didn't that just hand me the award for the Most Lame Girlfriend Ever. It didn't matter that he couldn't think about me, that his brains were scrambled eggs in Vader's skillet in regards to me. I still loved him, and I was strong enough to hold onto that love for the two of us. Wasn't I?

"… told us to find you, Master Yoda," Nova was saying. "We need your help, and Mary needs it more than any of us."

I blinked, and realized that Nova was no longer holding me like a prisoner. He was on one knee before The Wizard of DagObahZ, making an urgent plea on my behalf. On all our behalves, really. And Teela Dance was holding onto one of my arms, that blaster full of bad dream bolts held now a few inches from my head. At that range she was definitely going to turn me into Sleeping Beauty—permanently. No amount of kisses from my Prince was going to wake me from that lullaby.

"Uh, hey, T-baby? You mind, uh, backing that blaster off a bit?"

She moved it closer, so much so that I felt the metal press against my temple, eyes still on the kneeling Nova and the last living Jedi Master. Ah. Apparently she was still upset that the not-me had attempted to assassinate the guy we'd come all this way to see. Well, in that light, I'd be a little miffed, too. But still, I wasn't the not-me anymore. I was the_ me_-me. The one that still couldn't say her own name. The one that was still surprised that she hadn't been turned into red paint on the hull of her own ship for attempting to blast Yoda at her Master's request.

I flinched at that. Oh bloody hell, there I went again, thinking about Masters and Princes and—

"Fuck, Luke!" I exclaimed.

Nova whirled around, actually looking offended at my vulgarity. Did he really think a person that lived over eight hundred years _hadn't_ heard a few swear words in his day? And how did we know Yoda didn't invent a few of them in his free-swinging youth or something? The image of a young Yoda—which pretty much looked just like the current Yoda given I'd never seen images of what his race looked like in their youth—wearing a leather jacket, smoking a cigarette and driving a Harley down the street with a hot chick at his back was almost enough to make me giggle aloud.

"Mary," Nova chided sternly. "Now isn't the time to talk about trysts with your current lover—"

"That's not what I meant and you know it, dumbass!" I snapped, trying unsuccessfully to fling Teela's grip off my arm. She had hands like a Rottweiler's jaw, all latched on and ready to take my arm off at the shoulder rather than let go. "Seriously, T. Let go already. Luke's still out there and so are the rest of the Rogues. We gotta find them and get Luke and Nova all trained up to save the galaxy. So let's make with the moving already!"

"Dr. Uli is already packing up medical supplies so we can do just that," Teela of the powerful man-hands provided. "If you had been paying attention, you would have heard that Master Yoda will provide us with aid to find them shortly."

Oh. Well. I sorta deflated a bit at that. So much for my charge in and save the day plan.

To my surprise, Yoda chuckled. That cute little high pitched innocent one that made you not think he could rip entire ships out of orbit if he so desired. "Much courage you have, Mary Vasquez. Saved you, it has, and the lives of your companions."

I used my free hand to try and fluff up my dirt incrusted hair in a moment of false modesty.

"But save you from what is yet to come, courage alone cannot," he continued. "Changed much has, and destinies once set in stone now are not. Think on this we must, think heavily indeed."

"Well, that leaves you out," Teela muttered to me under her breath.

"Oh go cry in a bag of engine parts," I muttered back just as softly.

Apparently not softly enough. Both Nova and Yoda seemed to sigh in unison.

"Release her, you can," Yoda the Insightful said to Teela. "A wall between Lord Vader's commands I have placed. For a time, the dark princess out she will not come."

Teela looked like she really wanted to argue the point. But eventually she let go. Finally. I rubbed at my upper arm, resigning myself to the fact that a bruise was going to rise there. I was oddly surprised that my arm hadn't already just molded itself into a set of finger grooves. Between all the Imperials using that as their favorite carry hold when I was a prisoner and now Teela and Nova using it? Might as well have tattooed some guidelines there on how to do it right.

Still I bit my lip as I shuffled towards Nova and Yoda, my eyes on the mushy ground. Nova, I noticed, had risen to his feet. He was standing all straight and proud like he would have on Imperial guard duty. I had to wonder if he now felt the need to guard Yoda from me. That made me sad to think about. I guess I needed to find a new bodyguard now if Nova was serving Yoda. Not that I needed one, but the companionship was kind of nice. Especially with someone that knew who I really was.

"I… umm… look, I'm sorry about the whole, you know, trying to kill you thing," I muttered, shifting my feet like a five year old. "For the record, I'm glad I failed."

Yoda's ears lifted in a way that made him look faintly curious. "Not needed your apology is. Understand do I the situations in you are. Ready was I to face what Lord Vader had sent."

"It's probably not all of it," I said honestly. "I think Hater is smarter than that. His endgame can't possibly be as juvenile as a game of Clue. His plans are never as simple as Mary in the Swamp with a Blaster. C'mon, even I find that lame."

Nova reached out a hand, placed it on my shoulder. "Mary, do you realize what you just said?"

I tried not to grind my teeth in frustration. "Nova, dude, I get that you aren't my bodyguard anymore and you're protecting Yoda. But I'm trying to make a point of apologizing here and telling people as well as I can that trouble isn't over. If you want me to rewind like a tape recorder because for once you weren't listening instead of me—"

His other hand landed on my other shoulder, and he turned me to face him. Shaking my slightly. "Shut up, Mary," he grinned. "Just shut up and think about what you just said. Nevermind that, it'll take too long for you to figure it out. Answer the question instead."

Teela snorted a laugh. I chose to ignore it, focusing on Nova's slightly scary grin. "What question?"

"The one I've been asking you for days now."

"Oh, not that again, Nova. I don't want another headache and you know I can't answer!"

"Just try. Please. For me. Tell me your name and your roommate's name."

I sighed. Maybe some good would come out of this. Maybe Master Yoda would be able to pinpoint where the roadblocks were in my head if I threw myself at them in his presence. "My name is Mary Vasque…"

The look on Nova's face most likely mirrored my own. Holy crap! I could… I could remember! I could say it.

"My name is Mary Vasquez!" I shrieked, jumping up and down giggling like a mad loon. "My name is Mary Vasquez. My roommate on _EARTH_ is Deidra Collins. I'm a bartender at a dive called the Nevermore in Manhattan!"

Nova let me pull him into a fierce hug. "Told you to trust me, Mary," he said, hugging me back. "You held on. Thank you."

"No, thank you! And sorry for calling you 'the help' or 'that pinheaded manipulative bastard' or… oh, wait, that last part I only said in my head. But I'm sorry for it anyway."

Yoda's tapping of his staff on my shoulder cut short my moment of utter relief that I was me again. I turned to stare at him, wanting to pick him up in a hug, too, but realizing I was probably already pressing my luck being this irreverent in front of him. And, you know, the fact that I'd literally lead a squadron of ships to his front door when he was doing his best to remain hidden from the Empire. Yeah, we hadn't really crossed that line yet, and I wasn't looking forward to it, either.

"Only temporary, this is," he said gravely, almost sadly. "Work to do, we have, if to set you to rights we are. Come. Find your friends, we must. Short is the time and much we must do before arrive the others will."

The others… something about that nagged at me. Something that made me think of Thrawn and Thrass—without a porn scene screaming to life in my brain for once!—and filled me with dread. I had no idea why, but I knew it had something to do with them. And me. And other dangers yet revealed. Even if it did have me talking like Yoda in my mind. I never said things like 'other dangers yet revealed.'

Yoda was staring at me in that moment, and I think he knew that, too. The other dangers yet revealed thing, not the me talking like him in my head thing.

"I'm sorry," I said, staring down at my muck-covered boots. "Truly, I am. I never meant for any of this to happen."

"Unavoidable is destiny, Mary Vasquez. How it changes matters not. Adapt you must, and see it through you will. Come, to your friends we shall go. Not far is it. And much we must yet do. Yes, much."

I looked at Nova, Uli and Teela. We shrugged and hurried after our Jedi Master.

* * *

I felt like I was playing D&D, just in the flesh. And for once I wasn't the cleric! We had a real life bona fide doctor in our group. So I left the healing thing to Uli and just concentrated on pulling one foot out of the muck and placing it ahead of the other.

I glanced around at our merry band of adventurers and rephrased my analogy. We weren't playing D&D—we were in Lord of the Rings again. With Yoda staring as Gandalf, Teela as Eowyn, Nova as Aragorn, and Uli as Boramir (minus the whole betrayal thing). That just left me. I sighed. Great, I wasn't as loyal as Sam or as dedicated as Frodo. I wasn't even as smart as Merry. That left Pippin. Unthinkingly courageous and swearing fealty to the evil dude in a blind fit of grief. Yeah, that about summed up my life.

Though if Thrawn ever asked me to kiss his ring, I would tell him what he could kiss of mine instead.

As the Fellowship of the Lost X-Wing tromped across what was essentially the Dead Marshes mixed with the Swamp of Sadness (and me without my Luck Dragon!) for what felt like hours upon hours, I couldn't help but ask.

"Ummm… Master Yoda? By the way, is it okay to call you Master Yoda even though I'm not a Jedi? Anyway, just how long is this wall in my head going to last? I kinda like being me again."

"Up to you the time frame is," he said from where he perched on Nova's shoulders. "Address me as Master you may, my padawan."

And there I went, face first into the dirt again. This time falling on my face from real shock, not because anyone tripped or tackled me. "Uh, what now?" I said after spitting out a twig.

At least I hoped it was a twig. Seriously, one of these days I was going to learn to fall on my face gracefully… and with my mouth shut! Uli was kind enough to hoist me to my feet. By the look in his eyes, I now had more swamp muck on me than was on all of Dagobah. But at the moment I could care less. Did he just say…

"I don't have the Force, Master Yoda," I stammered, hurrying to catch up. Apparently falling on one's face wasn't grounds for the rest of the Fellowship to stop and wait. Uli just happened to be the one bringing up the rear and would rather help me to my feet than step on me. "I can't be a Padawan."

"The title of student, padawan means," Yoda continued, and after closing his eyes a moment, he tapped Nova on his left shoulder. Obediently, Nova turned that way. "During the days of the Old Republic, meant more that title did. Not changed the basic definition has. Much to learn you have, Padawan Vasquez, if to overcome your hurt you will."

"What about Jedi Masters only being allowed to have one Padawan?"

An expression of sadness filled that wizened face, so much so that I instantly regretted my question. "Fallen the order has, and blind we were. Adapt and change we must if the future we are to protect. Our fate we deserved for in the end, balance was achieved."

I thought about that a moment. "You mean that only four of you survived. Two Sith: Lord Hater and Uncle Palpy, and then you as the master and Obi-wan as the knight."

The sadness was still there, but his ears twitched what I was beginning to understand was approval. "Correct you are, padawan. The Force you do not possess, but intuition your ally has become. And powerful is that ally."

I felt my face warming under that praise. "I'm really not," I said honestly. "I just read a lot. Ask any of them," I indicated Aragorn—I mean Nova—and the rest. "I'm the most oblivious person in the world—err galaxy."

Yoda made a soft tsking sound. "Oblivious you are not, if saw right away what missed I did. Learn you will how best your gift to channel."

"If by gift you mean unending stream of annoying sarcasm, I'm way ahead of you, Master."

The tsking sound became a chuckle. "Refer I do to the vergence in the Force you represent."

The falling on my face that normally would have accompanied that statement was gently interrupted by a cushion of air. Literally, I face-planted nothing. Huh, I guess that was something else I could add to the list now. Only by nothing, I meant I face-planted whatever Force trick Master Yoda had conjured in order to prevent my fall. Not that he needed to bother saving my dignity. For starters, I didn't have any anymore, and for another I was already covered head to toe in swamp gross. Like another trip to the soggy earth would have made a difference.

Still, it was nice of him to try.

"Work on your balance we will. Your attention span we shall also."

Heh. Good luck with that. If my parents, my teachers, and menacing threats from Grand Admirals and their brothers couldn't force me to pay attention, I doubted highly that anything he could do would. Jedi Master or not.

"Thanks, I think…" I let that Force-cushion thing dissipate before I tried to walk a step further. "But can we get back to the big "v" word that you and Lord Hater seem to think has anything to do with me?"

"Vergence," Master Yoda repeated. "A convergence of destinies in the force it is. A nexus of great importance whose purpose largely unknown remains."

"Uh-huh, so basically what you are saying is that I'm the new wild card in this intergalactic poker game you all call the civil war. But news flash, Master. I can't use the Force. Not even a little! And weren't all vergences super powerful like An—err Lord Hater and Revan and Meetra Surik?"

I wasn't entirely certain if master Yoda wanted everyone to know yet that Vader was really Anakin Skywalker. He and Obi-wan ran circles around poor Luke's head to hide that little nugget of truth from the kid. Blurting it out right now would undermine all that work, and I already owed Yoda for bringing unwanted guests into his sanctuary. But talking about the leading characters of the Knights of the Old Republic video games? That seemed safe enough topic.

Yoda's ears lifted high at that, and the look he gave me made me very happy that I'd ixnayed the whole Nakinay Kywalkersay topic.

"To think on what you know, you must, and reflect on the power of that knowledge. Dangerous it can be, young padawan. Especially when uttered at times when said it need not be," He said gravely… and then chuckled softly. "Wild card… a good analogy that is, however a deeper understanding of its full meaning you require."

Translation: Shut my pie hole and make with the learning if I wanted even an inkling of understanding into what I meant in this galaxy. Congratulations, Mary! You've just been accepted into Yoda's School of Hard Knocks. Ditch the attitude and fall in line like Nova. He was certainly acting the part of the good pack mule—I mean padawan. Keeping his mouth shut and his eyes forward. His discipline was almost enviable.

"I suppose," I relented, and then folded my arms across my chest. "But I'm not wearing those apprentice robes or doing my hair in braids. I look horrible in brown."

"We shall see, Padawan Vasquez. Padawan Stihl, stop you shall and down I will go. Arrived we have and aside you must place your questions. Greet your allies we will. Come."

We found Merry, Gimli, Frodo, Legolas, Faramir and Samwise (aka Laurent, Morvane, Luke, Wedge, Vill and Dack) all grouped together around their salvaged supplies. None of them had had any better luck landing in this mud hole than we had. In fact, two X-wings were full beneath the waters of a lake and one was currently lodged in a giant tree. The other three had more or less made it down safely. Though none of the above were flight ready. That was attested to by the six-pack of astromech droids presently grouped around power generators, warbling mournfully to one another.

Teela was the first to break out of our group, running full speed towards our friends. Vill was on his feet almost as quickly, meeting his wife half way and sweeping her into a hug that put that one kiss from the movie The Notebook to shame. They truly did love each other, and I let myself feel a moment of true joy at my decision to muck with that part of the Lucas-verse. To think one of them would have died on the Death Star had I not saved Nova…

I didn't want to go there. For now it was enough that two people were together and happy for it. Even in the middle of a swamp with no hope of escape in sight.

So I didn't mind so much when Luke walked over to me, drawing me into a tight hug. Regardless of the fact that I could double for the Swamp Thing at the moment. I hugged him back, feeling my throat start to close with unshed tears. Oh man, this was going to be so hard. Telling him that I was me again, and that the woman that had told him she loved him wasn't me.

"Hey slick," I said, trying to grin at him. "I knew you could get everyone down here safely."

He chuckled softly, though I could see it in his eyes. He knew something was off, that something had changed in me already. "I'm glad you all made it down safely, too."

His eyes weren't Praji's eyes, his face wasn't aristocratic or made for sneers. It was open and honest, and his sky blue eyes were already starting to fill with the hurt. And I couldn't do it to him. I just couldn't. Maybe it was the part in my brain that was still Rori. Maybe it was because some part of me did love him in some way. And maybe, just maybe, I couldn't let him go another twenty years without knowing that someone cared about him in some way.

Whatever the reason, I pulled him down into a kiss. One that wasn't all seduction and shyness like Aurora. This one was purely me, purely Mary. "Not yet," I said as he pulled me to his chest. "We can't walk away from each other just yet. Things are going to change, Luke. Change drastically. But right now we need each other. And that has to be enough."

I felt him relax, his arms tightening around me in earnest. It was different, this embrace, from all the others we'd shared in the past two weeks. It was more mature, more filled with the knowledge that we weren't the happily ever after each one was seeking, that we weren't going to last as a couple. But we were the right ones for the moment. And that had to be enough.

"I promised I wouldn't let you go, Rori. Thank you for not letting go first."

I flinched at that name, pulling back. "Yeah, about that. See, we have a lot to talk about, and a lot of it you probably won't like."

He nodded, simply accepting that. Accepting that what I may tell him would rip him apart inside. But he'd face it because it was the truth. Because he was _Luke_, and that made me love him more. What would my life be like if I could really be with someone as uncomplicated as him? Well, it wouldn't be my life for starters. My tastes always ran towards the emotionally retarded. Case in point: I still had Tall, Blue and Masterfully Manipulative running around out there pretending to be wicked pissed that his true love was ripped from his arms by Rebels. Not to mention Commander Dilhole being all blissfully unaware that he'd ever loved me to begin with.

"Okay," Luke said, stepping back and giving my hand a gentle squeeze. "Whatever it is, we'll face it together as long as we can. Will you introduce me to your new friend?"

He nodded towards Yoda, who was once again sitting on a tree stump nonchalantly nomming on his gimmer stick. I rubbed my eyes, managing to smear more swamp gunk on my face in the process. "Okay. Remember, you asked for it. Luke Skywalker and entourage, allow me to present Jedi Master Yoda…"


	25. Chapter 25

A/N: Thank you all for the reviews, private messages, favorites and likes. :D This story keeps twisting around on me, and I hope you enjoy those twists.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun.

* * *

Life on Dagobah, what could I really say about it? Well, for starters, the smell never really got better. You got used to it in a sense, but it was more like being used to the idea that a dumpster was going to reek of decaying food. It still smacked you in the face with a brick made of oh-just-kill-me-now, but at least you were ready for it. For another, it was always wet, always damp and humid and you got to see the sun only when you climbed about twenty stories up into one of the Dagobah Giant Redwoods.

Okay, okay. That wasn't their real name. Yoda had explained it to me once, but trying to pronounce the proper name was like trying to inhale spaghetti noodles up your nose while simultaneously sneezing them out your mouth. Just no. Not happening.

And how did I know that the sun existed outside the canopy of the DGRs? Because I was forced to climb one, that's why. Seriously. I couldn't walk and chew gum at the same time, and yet I was supposed to make like Tarzan and swing from the branches. Simply because the Force and I had about as much attraction to one another as Kirstie Alley and healthy eating habits (really, would it kill her to put down the stick of butter and eat some broccoli or something?) did not excuse me from the physical Jedi training sessions. And fear of heights? That was so not an acceptable excuse to get out of Paul Bunyoning my way up the tree.

Or was Paul the lumberjack that cut down the trees? Oh, if only! I'd spend all my days trying to take one of these suckers out with a butter knife if it meant I wouldn't have to climb them!

But no, my life wasn't that blessed, even in a galaxy far, far away. If anything, when Yoda said "jump" it encouraged Nova to grab my sorry pattootie with the Force and throw me up into the air. Not even waiting for Yoda to say how high, either! Apparently it was just assumed that all padawans would know how high their masters meant them to leap.

I was so failing this Jedi Academy of Horrors.

For what felt like the millionth time, I swiped my hair out of my face with one hand and clung to the side of a tree like a blond koala with the other. Far above me, Luke, who was wearing the Yoda backpack today, came to a stop. Staring down at me with patient eyes. Below me, Nova the Jerkwad tapped impatiently on my foot.

"Keep moving," he said. "Every time you stop, your muscles relax and it makes it harder for you to move again. You're only making this more difficult on yourself."

"Says Mr. Perfect-in-Shape!" I snapped back, willing my protesting arms to reach above my head and grab some bark.

They stayed where they were, my aforementioned muscles walking in circles beneath my skin with little protest placards asking for no taxation without representation or better wage rates or something like that. I couldn't be bothered to listen to them, what with Mr. Pushy beneath me defying my biological union contracts with my body parts against unfair work practices. My legs started that union back when my boss on Earth had asked me to unload an entire truck full of alcohol into the stock room by myself. My arms quickly joined up after my lower back suffered a great injury. Nothing like a devastating display of agony to bring people—or in this case, my limbs—together on the same page.

Too bad the prospect of falling to a 'great injury' wasn't enough to unite me and Nova.

He shook his head. "I have no idea how you survived on your world if you are this out of shape, Mary."

"Where I come from, it was beauty above form. The only supermodel that would have survived a day of this torture was Tyra Banks. The rest would have snapped in half."

Nova just stared at me with the now familiar you're-an-idiot-I-can't-believe-you-are-a-padawan expression. Well, that made two of us. I still couldn't believe I was a padawan either. So there!

I glared at him, well, as much as I could from over my shoulder down past my body to what I could see of his face. "Just be lucky that I'm a nice person and I won't smash your face in with my boot."

He huffed out a laugh. Seriously, the jerk had enough oxygen after this climb to laugh! We were miles above the ground with miles more to go and he could laugh? What was he, the energizer bunny's cousin? "You couldn't hit me even from this range. You'd end up falling and I would have to catch you—again."

"See, that's your problem right there. You always live in the past. Let it go already. Why can't you think about the future for once and all the positive things that could happen?"

"Like you getting on with our training?"

"Like you shutting the hell up?"

"Focus, you must," our master cut in, disapproval weaving through his tone. "Padawan Vasquez, right you are in that the future your focus must be. But not at the expense of the moment. In that, Padawan Stihl has the right of it. Come, higher you must climb today. Trust you must in the Force to guide you."

Easy for him to say. He actually had the Force to fall—every pun intended!—back upon if he and gravity decided to argue about the fastest way out of this tree. Most times gravity would win that contest, and claim its spoils in the bloody puddle you'd become on the ground. Natural selection, a friend of mine would call it. If you were dumb enough to argue with a law of physics, you got what you deserved.

Idly I wondered if there was a saying like that about arguing with a Jedi Master.

Regardless, I finished my union negotiations with my various body parts and put one hand over the other, having no choice but to trust that Yoda wouldn't let me splat on the ground. Nova might, just to prove me wrong or something.

"I can almost hear that, Mary," Nova sighed, poking my foot again. "And no, I will not let you fall to your death on principle. Maybe into a few limbs to smack some sense into you, but not to your death."

"You would," I puffed/hissed at him.

His smile as he climbed up next to me was purely amused. At least, I hoped that flashing light in his eyes was pure amusement. "Possibly."

If I hadn't had my hands full of moss and bark, I would have formed my fingers into the sign of the cross and held them before my face. Not that that would do anything against him if he was all dark Jedi wannabe inside. Huh, what was the universal Star Wars sign to ward off the evil eye? I'd have to find that one out.

He responded by slipping an arm low around my waist and giving me a shove upwards. It was either climb faster or be hauled up like a child. And though the aspect of being carried—again—was appealing, my pride was getting the better of me. Stupid pride.

Failing to keep up with the rest of the class last time had stung a bit. Call it peer pressure. Call it a desire to actually finish an assignment. Call it what you will. But I was not going to be hauled around like a sack of potatoes again. Period. I took a deep breath and pulled myself ever higher.

* * *

I watched Nova take a deep, steadying breath and let go of the tree branch. He was balanced perfectly on his bare feet, walking out on a limb about as big around as my wrist and looked about as stable. Unconsciously my hand grabbed onto Luke's arm, my chest tightening. We were so much higher in the tree than we had gone before, so much so that the sun was bright and hot above us, the air clean smelling, and the ground below was impossible to see.

Nova continued to put one foot in front of the other, eyes closing as he did so. He reached the edge of the limb and—

Jumped.

No, soared.

Seriously, it was like watching Morpheus make that jump between buildings in the first Matrix movie. Nova was catapulted through the air; landing with what I hoped was grace on a tree much farther away. He spun around, and I didn't have to see his face to know it was lit up like a Christmas tree. He'd done it.

I sagged against the tree trunk, letting go of Luke's arm so I could slide down it and sit. Boneless. "Seriously," I uttered out loud. "I think I'm going to have a heart attack if they keep doing this."

Yoda chuckled. And I watched with a sort of dumb fascination as Nova repeated the exercise, landing back on our tree limb safely. Luke was up next, going through the same motions Nova had in order to prepare for his leap of destiny. Really, why couldn't we have done this over a lake or something? Why did it have to be over the freaking stratosphere of the freaking planet?

"Trust in the Force, they must," Yoda answered my unspoken question. "Same is the distance between one tree and the next. Same as the distance over the ground they have jumped. Only difference is in the mind. Trusting in the Force this exercise demands, not trusting in the eyes."

"Easy for you to say," I mumbled. "You actually have the Force."

The branch trembled as Luke made the same superman style leap to the other tree. A moment later he was back. And yes, he was grinning just as wide as Nova. I wanted to slap them both! See, I said slap this time instead of punch. That's progress, right? I was being all calm and Jedi-like. Besides, a slap is less angry than a punch, isn't it?

This time they both made like bald eagles and took flight to a different tree, this one farther away than the last. And when Luke's foot barely cleared the edge of thing, I couldn't take it anymore.

"I'm done," I announced. "I give up."

Yoda's ears twitched slightly, one rising a fraction of an inch higher than the other. "Why?"

"Because I'm not a Jedi, that's why!" I sighed in exasperation. "I can't sit here and watch them go through this stuff day in and day out. It's been two weeks of stuff like this, and each day gets progressively harder and more dangerous."

"Yet stronger and more capable they become."

"Yeah, sure. It's all fun and games until someone misses a branch and French-kisses the ground."

Yoda sighed. "Faith you lack, my padawan. Faith in yourself most of all. That is why you fail."

"Fail?" I blinked, surprised. "What have I failed at, aside from running, jumping, climbing, swimming…"

"Understanding," he said simply.

I wanted to rip my hair out by the roots. "Understanding what?! Master Yoda, I haven't understood a thing since I woke up on the _Tantive IV_. Okay, I take that back. I have understood love, but I lost that. No, scratch that. Vader stole that love from me and tried to replace it with lust instead. And I have understood pain, too. I damn well have a degree in that little area, thank you very much. Oh, and let's not forget screwing up a perfectly good timeline. I understand all that very well."

"But yourself, understand you do not."

Good lord, why didn't anyone tell me that arguing with Yoda was like arguing with a box of fortune cookies? All you were going to get were answers that made no sense and a stomach ache from eating stale cookies. Maybe that was why there were no stories about people arguing with the little guy. No one wanted to feel like they had tummy full of bleh.

"And what, pray tell, is that supposed to mean?"

"Occurred to you, it has not, that brought here for a reason you were?"

"Uh, no, not really. I've been trying too hard to survive here to think about that, honestly."

Both ears rose, his eyes lighting up. "Trying to survive, you have? Or trying to make sure others deserving of life also survive?"

Uh, what now? I felt my entire thought process grind to a halt. I honestly hadn't thought about my presence here in that way. I mean, sure, Nova and Teela were alive now. So were Thrass and Lorana. And I'd always said that all the above should have lived. It was tragic in a bad way that they all bit the big one in the novels. But I hadn't really considered that my total motivation for my actions. The things I'd done had been aimed at setting to rights what I thought was wrong with the Lucas-verse.

So, did that make me the galaxy's version of the retcon button? Was I here to fix all the little things all the authors wished they could have, but the corporate monster that was Lucasfilms wouldn't let them?

The tree branch trembled once, twice, a third and fourth time, as the two birds that were once my friends leapt about from tree to tree at Yoda's direction. I sat and pondered. And no, there was no smell of smoke from my mental circuits frying, thank you very much. I could think when I wanted to. More times than often I just didn't have time to! It was so much easier to react than to think. I usually relied on my roomie to be the brains of our operation. As in I would drag her into all sorts of trouble, and she'd think of a way to get us out of it.

"I don't know," I said at last. "It just… seemed like a way to write a wrong. It was something I could do along the way of trying to survive, myself. They shouldn't have died. I know that in my heart. I just… I didn't think that so many things would change because of that. Or that I would end up with a head full of nonsense."

"Nonsense, you say?" Yoda asked quietly, still watching Luke and Nova leap about like they were auditioning for Cirque de Soliel. "To which do you refer?"

"The false memories Lord Hater stuffed into my head, of course."

"False they may be," my master continued. "But small bits of truth hidden in them remains."

I was seriously going to have to ask for a Yoda-to-English dictionary. This was getting stupefying. "And what does that mean?"

"Alter you so clearly he could not if your permission he lacked."

"Are you trying to tell me that I wanted him to brain rape me?"

This time there was no mistaking the sigh of frustration. This was a new record for me. The most patient sentient in the universe was now at his wit's end with me.

"Telling you nothing am I," he replied at last. "Asking you to look deeper into yourself I am. Answers you will find that I cannot provide. Trust in the Force, my padawan. Jedi you may not be, yet destiny you have."

Yoda didn't say anything more. I sat there for a very long time, thinking about what he'd asked and said.

Could I really have been brought here for a reason? Was I really the vergence in the Force that both Yoda and Vader claimed? But if so, what was the reason? And why me of all people? I was useless , utterly and completely useless. I didn't possess Force powers or a brilliant insight into how to win a war. I was just lucky that I hadn't thrown up all over Thrawn's boots when forced to witness the battle of Yavin at his side! So what _was_ my purpose here?

I sat and stared at the sunlit sky, and thought long and hard about that. So much so that I jumped when Luke put a hand on my shoulder.

"Easy, Mary," he said, settling down beside me. My real name sounding somehow wrong and somehow right on his lips. "I brought you something to eat."

I stared at the parcel he withdrew from his backpack. "Lunch up here?"

"Lunch?" he blinked and then smiled. "Mary, this is breakfast. You've been up here meditating for nearly a day and a night. Nova was beginning to think you were bragging, showing that you could beat his meditation skills."

My stomach growled loudly at that, as if catching up with all that Luke had said. I took the food—some kind of black bread-like substance with an earthy taste to it along with reddish brown berries that looked like blackberries but tasted like cantaloupe. I didn't bother to ask about the bread stuff. I was afraid it was some kind of cave fungus or mold or something. It did have a faint mushroom like flavor.

I covered the need to swallow hard by swallowing a berry instead. "So… uh, whose bright idea was it to leave me up here all alone?"

"Master Yoda's. He said you'd be fine, that you needed time to focus on your lessons."

Heh. Lessons. That was a funny way to put it. More like life lessons than Jedi lessons. But weren't life lessons still lessons? I mean they wouldn't call them that if they weren't some form of guidance.

I nodded once, eating another berry. "He pretty much dumped a heavy one on me," I confessed. "That maybe my presence here was destiny rather than an accident. And if that's true, I have a heavy one to carry."

He slipped an arm around my shoulders. "I know how that goes," he said softly as I leaned against him. "But at least we are not alone. You and me and Nova. Whatever happens, we have each other."

I tried not to wince at that. Shouldn't he have said 'me and Leia and Han and Chewie?' (oh my!)

"Larry, Curly, and Moe. The tree stooges of the Jedi Order," Luke's smile wilted around the edges slightly and I sighed. "Slick, I know this is serious for you. And I don't mean—mostly—to make light of it. You will be a Jedi, and you will go on to be a Jedi Master. I suppose Nova will as well. I'm not Jedi material. I'm still trying to figure out where I fit into all this, or if I'm even supposed to."

"Master Yoda seems to think so."

Master Yoda also thinks its dandy to live in a swamp and eat mold. What does that say about every decision that he makes? But I was kind enough not to say that part out loud.

"Master Yoda thinks a lot of things," I said instead.

"He has faith in you. So do I. So does the rest of the Alliance."

That one I did wince at. "Yeah, can't wait for them to find out that Aurora isn't real. Just wait and see how long they will have faith in me after that."

"I still do," he said quietly, tipping my head back to look into his eyes. "No matter what Darth Vader did to you, enough of the real you was in there to try and fight back. The same thing is going on with Leia right now."

I almost dropped my breakfast. "You… you knew?"

"That something was wrong with her? Yes. I knew, and Han knew, just as we knew something was off about you."

"And you didn't say anything?"

He shrugged. "What was there to say? We didn't have a basis of comparison for you, but Mon Mothma knew Leia before her ordeal with Vader. She could see something wasn't right. I could feel it, though I didn't know what it was at the time. I know it now."

"But you didn't know that it was something Vader had done until Yoda pointed it out."

He nodded. "Even then, I held out hope that you and Leia would overcome it somehow. That the women you were was strong enough to fight back. Or at the very least I would be able to heal you in time."

I didn't know what to say, and tried to lower my head, Yoda's words about being partially open to Vader's mind-wonkying still sharp in my memory. His hand on my cheek prevented that.

"Mary, I need to know. Was everything between me and Aurora… was there any part of it that was you?"

"I… I don't know. I want to believe it was, that a large part of it was me. He… he wants you so fiercely, Luke. He reprogrammed Leia and me to get to you, among other things. So I don't know how much was real, and how much was opportunity to get closer to you. I'm sorry about that."

He nodded, accepting. Always so accepting, even when it felt like his heart was ripping out of his chest. It was killing me.

"But what about now?"

This time I didn't try to look away. "Luke, someone is going to come along and blow what you feel for me out of the water. She's going to be your match, your equal in every way. And she's going to complete you on a level you never knew existed. I'm not saying this as a gentle let-down, or that some nebulous faceless woman is out there waiting for you. I'm saying it because I've seen it. I know it. I even know her name and what she looks like and everything. And I'll tell you if you want. But—"

"But that knowledge could change everything," he finished for me. "Master Yoda has warned us about acting on the images we see of the future. That it's always changing."

I nodded this time. "Yeah, I've learned that the hard way. Every time I try to fix something based on what I know, something else goes horribly wrong. It's like… like the galaxy is balancing itself out or something. For every good I do, something bad happens."

"Maybe that was what Master Yoda wanted you to learn yesterday," he said, gazing out at the rising sun. "The lesson was about balance in all things."

"Great. Can't wait to see what today's lesson is."

"Today is for independent study. To review and process what we have learned in the past three days. If you want, I'll help you down the tree."

He started to rise, and this time it was my hand that caught his cheek, turning his face down to mine. My lips touched his lightly at first, a delicate pressing meant as a thank you and an apology all rolled into one. But it didn't stop there, not when his hand settled back at my waist. I waited for the darkness to rise in time with the deepening of the kiss, for the Aurora thing to take over. For once I was willing to let it, to see if there was truly something of me inside the thing that loved him.

I waited. And nothing tried to control me, and still I wanted this. I wanted him.

So much for being the bad girl that only went for Imperials…

When the kiss broke I was in his lap, both of his arms around me and mine around his neck. "I'm not the right one for you, Luke Skywalker," I whispered. "And you are not the right one for me. But can I be your 'right now?'"

"That depends," he said, a growing smile on his face.

"Depends on what?"

"Will you take your training seriously?"

I lifted an eyebrow. "That sounds suspiciously like blackmail there, Slick."

"Not at all. Think of it like balance between what you want and what you have to do to get it."

"You need to unlearn what you have learned real fast, boyo," I jabbed a finger playfully into his chest. "You've spent too much time with Han. That's so what he would have said."

"He did," Luke said, lifting us both to our feet. "In an argument with Leia. It got through to the real Leia and she made the deal."

"So Han's her watchdog just like you and Nova were mine?"

"I pulled double duty on both you and your sis—I mean Leia."

"And I'm certain you didn't enjoy that one bit," I deadpanned.

This time he blushed as he smiled, and that reaction was all Luke. It was the one thing I hoped he never unlearned how to be.


	26. Chapter 26

A/N: Thanks again for the reviews and private messages! Sorry that I took so long in updating this one. This one isn't as funny as it should have been, but then again, discussing a possible fall to the Dark Side is no laughing matter. ;)

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun.

* * *

Three weeks on Dagobah and I was beginning to feel like I was staring in a really bad crossover fanfic between Star Wars and Little House on the Prairie. Those of you in my age bracket know exactly what I'm talking about. Anyone born after 1985 is just going to have to look up the wiki or just nod and pretend like you know what I'm talking about. But don't feel bad if you have to do that. You'd fit right in with Luke, Nova and the rest of the residents of the wannabe Walnut Grove. They had no idea what I was talking about either.

You'd think I'd be used to that by now. Let me tell you something, you never get used to being misunderstood, especially when you know you are explaining something that is perfectly valid where you come from.

But to try to show you what I'm getting at, life on Dagobah was like living in a frontier town in the old American West. Those of the non-padawan variety were busy doing things like erecting temporary housing (let's face it, the _Runaway Princess_ was a nice-sized craft, but it couldn't sleep us all comfortably), foraging for food and generally setting up a perimeter just in case there was anything on this planet with the ability to take a larger bite out of us that we could. While Yoda assured us that we were safe if we stayed in his designated areas, we all weren't completely convinced. Jedi Masters we were not, and what he considered a minor issue could very well swallow us whole without trying.

Much love to the little green dude, but we had to trust our instincts, too.

Regardless, Wedge apparently rose to the top and became the Mayor of Swampville, with Dr. Uli as his… uh… vice-mayor? Second chair? Co-consul? No, wait, this wasn't Rome for crying out loud. There was no consulate. Anyway, Wedge was in charge of the non-wans as I called them, and Luke ended up being in charge of us padawans. I think that had to do with the fact that he was so much stronger in the Force than Nova. Like, seriously stronger. I'd often wondered what made Luke so special that he was able to defeat Darth Vader—a man that had been a trained Jedi for two decades before he became a Sith Lord for like two _more_ decades on top of that—with only about a scant two weeks of hard core lessons from Yoda.

Now I knew. It was called raw talent and an intuitive nature so acute that even I wanted to slap him. Not that you could, mind you. He saw the attempt coming a mile away and blocked it before it landed near him. Sometimes I swore that he knew I was going to strike him before I even knew it. Creepy, I tell ya!

Aside from that, I had to admit that live in Swampville actually agreed with me. I was probably in the best shape of my life. And let me stop you right there. It wasn't like that. There was no big montage of cut-scenes and booming empowering music to suddenly illustrate the magnitude of what I was undertaking in my padawan training. No before and after images that flashed by in the blink of an eye to show my transition from wimpy bartender to Wonder Woman. I didn't suddenly manifest Yoda-like inner peace and a connection to the Force, either.

Just because I was able to run a mile now in six minutes did not mean I could suddenly weld a lightsaber that shifted color with my eyes depending on my mood, while simultaneously putting on lip gloss and flipping my longer-than-average prefect hair over my shoulder. Oh, and never get dirty even though I stood in the middle of a swamp. In other words, my name may be Mary, but I wasn't a Mary Sue.

If you were looking for something along those lines, I've got an invisible jet to sell you.

No, the only thing from that above list that I'd managed to do was run a mile in six minutes without feeling like I wanted to die. Mostly. At the end of the day, I was still covered in swamp crud and I stayed as far away from the lightsaber practice as I could without being out of Master Yoda's earshot. It didn't matter that he insisted that I have a lightsaber of my own. The thing hung from my belt like a load stone. Like a dangerous, heavy, could-accidently-activate-on-its-own-and-chop-off-my-leg kind of load stone.

Hell yeah, I was afraid of it. Wouldn't you be? Oh shut up, you know you would be, too. Stop fronting!

By that point, life had pretty much set itself up in a routine of sorts. Mornings were spent in lecture with Master Yoda on tenants of the Force, most of which went right over my head. Then Nova and Luke were set to practice that day's lesson with each other, and I was pulled aside for my Non-Force-Using Padawan lesson. Which normally included a verbal test on the principles of the morning's lecture. And let me tell you this, you don't bullshit a Jedi Master. If you don't know the answer, you speak the freak up and say so. Otherwise you get punishment work.

Like being Teela's personal bitch for a full day. Oh, that woman still hated me for whatever I did to her when I was fully Aurora. And spending the whole day lugging tools around to hand to her as she helped repair the ships—while only being able to say things like "Yes, Miss Dance" or "No, Miss Dance" or "Please clarify as I do not know the right tool you request, Miss Dance"—was an exercise in torture. Geneva Convention level torture!

Not that anyone here knew what the Geneva Convention was about, or even cared to learn. Wedge asked about it once, and after I lost my mind screaming at him because he said it sounded bizarrely anti-alien in its "human rights" bits, I got to spend another day with Teela the Wicked Bitch of the West to pay for that. I swear, the one thing I can quote like it's my own personal history, and I get punished for trying to explain it. No justice anywhere, I swear.

Keep in mind that I was saying and doing all this of my own free will. Yoda wasn't the type to mind-wonky me. And Teela? Oh, she loved it. So much so that she requested me each and every time she could. Pure, sheer torture. Since I'd been through torture before, I could safely make that claim.

So yeah, needless to say that my memory was improving, too. Rapidly. So was my ability to focus, believe it or not.

After the quiz on the Lesson of the Day, I was sent to different places to meditate. Trees, rocks, fallen logs... neck deep in the water… No, I'm not making that up. I seriously had to find a way to meditate in the nasty swampy water. It was something about learning to meditate even in the midst of danger and distraction, like Qui-Gon did when facing off with Darth Maul. And I was to think about such august topics as: why was I here, what happened the last time I changed something, what was coming in light of those changes, etc.

After that, it was more tree-climbing or running or whatever physical combat training that Nova had devised for us. He was in charge of primary exercises, and had developed a routine for Rogue Squadron as well. Trying to keep them in fighting shape since there was drek-all to do on this planet if you weren't a Jedi. And when Nova and Luke worked on their lightsaber combat, Master Yoda had me running basic fighting drills with a practice saber. Again, just because I wasn't a Force user didn't mean I couldn't benefit from learning how to fight.

Too bad I couldn't use my new found skillz to run away from nightmares or beat them down. They returned in full force not two days back, and for the life of me I couldn't remember what they were. All I knew was that they involved sleep walking and feeling cold and afraid and sad. I'd wake up each time either curled in the fetal position on the floor, or sitting in the chair opposite my communications station in the Runaway Princess. Which was stupid, as the comm system was on lockdown per Nova's instructions.

No signals were to get in or out, not if it meant we could accidently alert the Empire to Yoda's presence here.

But the worst part was the returned dreams of the Great Blue Dragon, himself. He featured heavily in the dreams that came after the nightmares. And in them I either sat across from him as we played a game of chess together (which was dumb as I hated that game. Strategy and I did not get along) while I cried. Not about the chess game, surprisingly enough, but about feeling helpless and alone. Other times we were on the bridge of the _Admonitor_ and battles were raging all around. He looked tense, and I kept telling him I was of no help. He kept insisting otherwise and that he would not let me go back to _him_. So insistent was he about that that he'd taken a pair of binders and locked one cuff around each of our wrists.

I had no idea what 'him' he was talking about. And saying that repeatedly did nothing to change his mind. Asking Yoda about the dreams ended in more riddles and a suggestion to meditate.

Translation: Find the answer by yourself, blondie. I gots me some real Jedi to train. Git off mah lawn.

"What are you sulking about this time?"

I jerked, nearly falling off my log. Yes, today I was to mediate while balancing on a fallen tree. Seriously! This so wasn't like any yoga class I had ever attended, and I had found a pretty good zen balance when I went to yoga regularly. But at least this time I didn't fall. I just looked like a drunken idiot weaving on one foot for a second. Or like the Karate Kid—the original, not the Jayden Smith remake. Seesh! Appreciate the classics, people!

"Just how much I want to smack you on the arm," I chirped cheerfully at Nova, finally regaining my equilibrium.

He chuckled. "No desire to punch me anymore?"

"Oh, there's a big desire to do that, still. Huge desire, actually. I'd say somewhere in the range of planetary in its size. But I'm supposed to be thinking of anything instead of that now. You know, trying to find my inner-Jedi or whatever. Why are you here anyway? Aren't you supposed to be running off with Luke learning how to juggle rocks or something?"

As if on cue, about six pebbles rose out of the muck around us and started to weave in a complex pattern before his face.

I glared. "Show off."

"No, simply following orders," Nova replied, shrugging and sinking down onto a previously unseen rock. He crossed his legs Indian-style and continued to watch the rocks in the air. "How about you?"

I stared down my nose at him, weaving slightly as I tried to watch his rock show and keep my balance all at once. Which was a lot harder than it sounded. "Same," I gritted my teeth. "Supposed to be learning outer balance today, in hopes that if my body was aligned properly, my temper might follow it."

Nova bit back a laugh, but not the bright smile that it painted on his mug. "It's supposed to be the other way around, Mary."

"Since when has anything about me been the way it should be?" I shrugged on reflex, and nearly lost my footing. Stupid lack of balance! "Case in point, I should be at home right now watching Luke do this by himself on DVD. You should be…"

Ergh. Sometimes I really hated it when my mouth ran away from my brain.

"I should be dead?" he offered helpfully, the stones in the air now doing this figure eight weaving thing that was oddly pretty. You know, for rocks covered in swamp crud, that is.

I sighed, lowering my arms and staring at him. "You know that's not what I meant."

"Isn't it?"

He had me there. I sighed, lifting my arms again in the pose that Yoda had shown me. "Ignore me. I'm an idiot and you know it."

"I can't," he replied, voice sounding strained. One of the rocks fell from his control. "That's part of my study for today."

I cracked open one eye, lurching precariously as I split my attention again. "Not ignoring me is part of your Jedi training?" I couldn't help but snerk. "Isn't that the _opposite_ of what you want to do if you want to keep your Jedi demeanor? I've noticed severe lack of you wanting to be near me lately, and a short fuse on your bomb-like temper when you are. Dude, you might as well give up now if you want to stay calm around me. I've made the most rigidly controlled Grand Admiral in the Empire grind his teeth in frustration."

Two more of the rocks fell, and a grimace of concentration creased his features. "That's… precisely why Master Yoda… wants me to be near you… today."

Okay, that one knocked me off my pedestal…err log. I managed to land on my feet instead of my ass for once. See, I could be taught! "What the crap is that supposed to mean" I snapped, planting my hands on my hips. "And are you okay? You don't look well."

Tiny rivulets of sweat were running down his face, only two of the six rocks still in the air. And those were no longer doing the pretty twirly dancy thing. It was like he had to concentrate for all his worth to keep those two stones hovering an inch from the swamp. And even then they plunked down in the sodden ground like all my fallen hopes.

"I'm fine," he huffed, swiping a hand across his forehead, breathing hard. "It's harder for me to control small objects than it is to control the larger ones. I think Luke has the opposite problem."

I blinked at him as the implications of his sentences sank in, and then gaped. "If that's true and your assignment is to sit here and juggle rocks, I don't want to know what Yoda is having Luke try and juggle."

The thought of him juggling, I don't know, entire asteroid belts or something, made me want to run and hide. If Nova dropped a rock, it was no biggie. If Luke dropped an asteroid belt onto Dagobah… well, let's just say that we wouldn't have to worry about the Empire finding us out here. That would pretty much wrap up our stories nice and tight, like dinosaur-style ending. As in total planetary destruction.

Nova about fell over on his side laughing, and I realized that he'd picked up some of that mental imagery from me. Especially the part where all of us—us padawans, Rogue Squadron, the good doctor and Teela, plus Master Yoda—all appeared in the afterlife as glittering blue ghosts. And all Luke could do was look at us all sheepishly and say "oops. I dropped one."

"Nothing that big, Mary," Nova chuckled, pushing himself back up onto his rock. "Master Yoda has Luke attempting to pull the two stranded X-Wings out of the lake."

Oh, well when he put it that way… I sank down on my log, sitting just like he was. Except I plunked my elbow on my knee and dropped my chin into my palm. "So what do X-wings and stones and your Jedi peace of mind have to do with me? And if you say that you'd like to drop either one on me like the Wicked Witch of the East, so help me I'll go back on my promise to Yoda and punch you in the head."

Nova shook his head, absently rubbing the muck off his hand onto his already mucky shirt. Which didn't accomplish anything more than spreading the muck around on both. "You should call him Master. He is your teacher."

"I'm not a real padawan, so he isn't my real master."

"No, I think rage is your real master. And rage leads to the dark side."

I snerked out another laugh, remembering all my previous moments as Darth Cupcake, Darth Blondie, and possibly doing a Disney musical scene on the Death Star about how so very wicked I was. "Nova, I'm about as threatening as a dead gnat. You really think I'm falling to the dark side?"

"Not yet, but I think you are dangerously close to it."

He was serious, I realized. And that almost knocked me off my log again. That, and the way the humor had slowly bled out of his eyes, replaced with something that I didn't want to see. It reminded me too much of the look in his eyes when we were rescuing Wedge and the future members of Rogue Squadron from the _Admonitor_. Like he was preparing to take me apart at the seams if he needed to.

"Well, news flash, dearheart," I tried to chirp brightly, managed only to sound a little breathy. "I don't have a dark side to fall to. Remember, no Force powers? Hard to be a dark Jedi when I can't be a Jedi in the first place."

"Do you think Tarkin and Motti were Jedi?"

I snorted. "Maybe in their dreams—their wildest dreams."

"They were more evil than Lord Vader, Mary," Nova said softly, two of the stones rising into the air again. "And they were full of the dark side."

I suddenly didn't like the way this conversation was heading. "Dude, if you came here to harsh my mellow…"

A third stone rose, and Nova's face twisted in concentration. When he spoke again, his voice was strained. "No, I came here because I have a lesson to learn."

"That interrupting my not-meditation with bizarre theories is a surefire way to piss me off?"

"No, that burying my anger behind good intentions does not alleviate it."

Anger? What the hell? "Good intentions? I don't follow."

The stones plunked to the ground again, and when his eyes hit me, I fell off my log. Seriously, the simmering anger in his eyes was strong enough to fry me on the spot. I hit the ground in my usual manner this time—face first. And that had him on his feet and over to my side quickly, grabbing my arm and hauling me to my feet.

"Seriously, what's your damage?" I gasped, terrified. And pissed. Suddenly so very pissed that I really _did _wanted to punch him in the face.

"You are," He snapped. "I've tried so hard to bury this anger behind keeping you alive, hoping one day I could reach you. But you just keep doing this."

"Well, sorry for living. I'll try not to live in your presence," I snapped back. "Now leggo!"

"Why did you lie to me?"

Really? _That's _what had him all torqued out? That I had lied to him to save his life? And why was all this coming up now of all times, when it had been almost two and a half months since then?

"Uh, it was called a snap decision to save your life? Feel free to apologize and thank me any time now."

He ignored that. "If I hadn't brought it up, would you have ever told me that you lied to me?"

"Honestly? No, no I wouldn't," I said bluntly. "And I resent the hell out of the fact that you are making me feel guilty for doing whatever I had to in order to save your life."

"So for you, the ends justified the means?"

"In this instance, yes! What, are you telling me that you would have accepted the truth there on the Death Star? You would have believed me if I came storming up to you and said 'Hey, Nova Stihl, I know all about you and the Blink. But I don't have the Blink to know about it. So just trust me blindly, okay? You're gonna die if you don't listen to me.' Please, you would have shot me or hauled my ass over to Lord Hater in that instant. Then you'd be dead and I couldn't let that happen. So stop looking the gift mynock in the mouth and just say thank you already!" I tugged on my arm, and like with every man in my life, found his grip ironclad. "Besides, you were supposed to do the smart thing and go with Teela and crew, not hang around with me to find out that I lied. You weren't supposed to come after me and get caught up in all of this. You could have lived a nice normal life—which is what I wanted for you."

"You?" he balked. "Have you listened to a word you've said? All of this is still about you. You never once considered what I wanted in the situation."

"Yeah, yeah. I get that all the time," I snarled. "From you and Leia and Thrawn. I never think about anything but me or listen to anything other than the sound of my own voice. Blah, blah. Move on already."

He looked like he wanted to shake me. Like grab both of my arms and shake me until my teeth rattled. "You are still doing it!"

"Well, yeah! Because I'm the only one that knows _me_. I'm the only one that gives a flip about the real me. Even you, you ungrateful bastard, you felt you owed a debt to Aurora instead of Mary. So if the only person rooting for the _me _me is me, then that's who I'm going to listen to. Because I'll be damned if I'm going to be come that selfish, insipid, spoiled Princess. I'd rather be the selfish, insipid, spoiled bartender. Because then I know my choices are my own."

"And Luke doesn't care about you?"

Now that was a low blow. "He thinks he does. But I'm not the one for—"

This time he did shake me. "And there you go again, thinking about what you want for us all. Never thinking that maybe, just maybe, we want to make our own choices, too. Can't you hear yourself? You sound just like a Sith. Like Vader and Palpatine, trying to make others do what you want them to do because you think its best."

Oh hell no! He did not just call me a Paply wannabe!

"No, not because of that!" I yelled back, my voice sorta sounding like a rolling hiccup from him shaking me while I'm trying to talk. "Because I know what will happen otherwise. I'm trying to save everyone!"

And then it clicked. What I had just said slammed home like a kamikaze pilot bombing my emotional Pearl Harbor. I think it clicked for him at that same moment, or at least my emotional response did. I was fairly certain that he didn't know Thrawn's backstory, nor the vision that first set young Palpatine on the path that turned him into the Emperor. Thrawn was moving heaven and hell to protect his people—the Chiss—from the approaching storm of the Yuzhan Vong threat.

Palpatine had seen a vision of the Vong as well, and had literally toppled the Old Republic in order to turn it into a weapon to fight the Vong invasion. Granted, Uncle Palpy would have performed his hostile takeover of the galaxy anyway because Sith Lords always hunger for more power. The Vong was just a convenient excuse. But Thrawn… he was doing all this because he was a patriot, because he was terrified of what would become of his people if the Vong won. He'd accepted exile from his own people in order to come to the Empire and help Palpy forge his weapon to take down the Vong.

Because he knew what would happen if he didn't act. Just like I knew what would have happened if I didn't act. No wonder we hated each other. Thrawn and I, I meant. Deep inside, we were exactly alike.

And suddenly that conversation with Yoda two weeks ago about the false memories inside me made perfect sense.

"_False they may be," my master continued. "But small bits of truth hidden in them remains."_

"_And what does that mean?"_

"_Alter you so clearly Vader could not if your permission he lacked."_

Son of a bitch. I really _was_ falling to the dark side, wasn't I? Becoming just as much of a control freak as Palpatine and Thrawn and Vader.

I didn't remember when it happened, but I was suddenly holding onto Nova for dear life. I had my head buried into his chest, and I was sobbing. "I'm sorry, Nova. I'm so sorry. No, this isn't me saying 'I' because I'm only thinking about me. I don't know how to say sorry any other way! I'm sorry I lied. I'm sorry I never asked what you wanted. I'm sorry for being an arrogant dilhole. I'm sorry!"

"I'm sorry, too," he said, hugging me. "I've been harboring this grudge for months, hiding it beneath my need to see you safe, to repay the debt of saving my life. I should have brought it up sooner, but there was always an excuse, always a battle of some kind to be fought and it just seemed unimportant. I'm sorry, Mary. Sorry for clinging to Aurora, for listening to Master Kenobi instead of stopping to talk to you."

"No, don't be sorry for that," I sniffled. "I don't know how much would have reached me and how much Aurora would have swallowed whole. She's not a nice person. And I'm afraid she's me in some way. Like the dark me or something. The evil twin inside that I didn't know I had. She's a real bitch. You should punch her in the head."

That produced a slight laugh from him. "Mary, if I were to punch you in the head, you would not wake up again."

"True," I muttered, finally looking up at him. I tried a small smile, saw one on his lips, too. A fragile thing, but something to build a real friendship on if we worked hard at it. "So, a truce then? If you promise to keep me from swan diving into the dark side, I promise to make you confront your anger even when you don't know you have it."

He shook his head. "Do we really need to put definitive stipulations and labels on things? Why not say that we are in this together, and we'll see it through to the end."

"Because only a Sith deals in absolutes?"

"Exactly."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"When did we get on this branch?"

He blinked and noticed for the first time that we were perfectly balanced on the branch of the log I'd been using as a meditation board. And all around us, ten little stones hovered and twisted in a circle. And from somewhere off to our left, we heard the familiar Muppet-chuckle of our Jedi Master. Apparently we'd somehow broken through a plateau of mutual anger and found our inner balance.

Together.

Who would have thought?


	27. Chapter 27

A/N: Thanks for the reviews! I promise that the Dagobah story arc is coming to a close soon, and we'll be back with the rest of the ESB storyline. :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun.

* * *

One month on Dagobah, and I was coming to like the idea of the place. After that little karmic palate cleansing between Nova and I, I was feeling a lot more zen. Like Mother Teresa, except for the fact that I wasn't old, wasn't celibate, and wasn't dead. Oh, and that I wasn't wearing an all-black sack of a dress, either. There were some places in your life where you just had to draw the line at the absurd, and this was one of them for me.

That little tidbit was wedged in the forefront of my thoughts as I finally broke through the top of the tree canopy, taking a deep breath of non-swampy air. All my limbs still felt like they were on fire from that climb, but for once I didn't mind so much. And for once, I had done this climb by myself—voluntarily! How's that for learning inner balance!

I was back in the same tree we had started in, the one in which Nova and Luke had made like Rocky the Flying Squirrel and nearly scared the life out of me with their leaps. It still bothered me when they did that, but not so much that I wanted to scream anymore. More like a worry you get when a friend drives a car a little too fast or decides that it's a good idea to wear orange just because someone said it was the new pink. It makes you shudder and worry for your friend's sanity, but doesn't make you want to rush out and stop them right away.

Well, except for the orange… Friends don't let friends wear orange. Another line I wasn't willing to cross.

I chuckled at that as I plopped myself down on the familiar tree branch, breaking into my lunch. Today it was some sort of stew that Morvane had concocted. He was quite the inventive chef, if you didn't ask what he was using for meat and spices and veggies. A thick slice of the not-bread was also provided. So I felt like I was eating a very sage-y stew with a slice of thick toasted mushroom to dip into it. Again, it was pretty tasty and filled the hole, but I wasn't about to ask what was in it. Light-saber toting wannabe Jedi or not, I wasn't that brave.

"You are braver than you believe, young padawan."

I about dropped my lunch, my hand automatically flying to the lightsaber I couldn't use that well to begin with. But when you need a weapon, you pretty much go for whatever happens to be lying around. Lord of the Rings taught me that. I'd never loved a frying pan more in my life than when I watched Samwise smack a goblin in the face with one. It went on my list of things to never be without: A good frying pan, a good towel (cus you never went anywhere without a towel!), and a kick-ass set of shoes.

My lunch floated up into the air without spilling so much as a drop. It was then that I noticed the sparkly glowy blue hand that appeared out of nowhere, holding said lunch. A kindly face formed from the nothingness, an older human by all appearances, with a gray beard and gentle eyes that I'd know anywhere.

"Obi-wan?" I blinked.

"You can put the lightsaber down now, padawan. I am not here to harm you, nor can you harm me in this state."

I lowered the blade, not realizing that I'd actually managed to leap to my feet, pull the thing free of my belt, and activate it in one smooth motion. Oh, and not plummet to my death, given that we were miles above the ground on a freaking tree limb. Granted that limb was about a big around as my entire apartment was wide, but still… this was me, and accidents were always happening when I was around.

Yes, I'm very much aware that I'm the number one cause of them. You didn't have to point that out.

I deactivated the blade, trying to get my heart to cease its attempt to leap out of my body via my rib cage. "Really? You choose now to appear to me, in the middle of lunch in a less than safe location? Dude, I could have fallen to my death!"

He chuckled, still holding onto my lunch pot. "You would not have come to harm, padawan. I would have saved you."

"Part of that more-powerful-than-you-can-possibly-imagine shtick you quoted at Hater before he, you know, helped you become one with the Force?"

If that upset him at all, I couldn't tell. It was like trying to read the facial expressions of a hologram. It didn't help that you could see right through him, that the background sorta infringed upon what you were trying to scrutinize.

"Partially," he replied, taking a seat next to me. "To be one with the Force is to share the knowledge of those that had come before you."

"And that knowledge includes how to save a tumbling lunch?"

His smile grew, and I was reminded of how Ewan McGregor played him in ROTS. "There are a lot of things that the Others have shared with me."

"Sensational!" I quipped around a mouthful of stew. "How about whipping out some of that vast knowledge to answer some questions."

"That's why I'm here."

I eyed him suspiciously. "Seriously? I find it hard to believe that you took time out of your unlife to play twenty questions with me. Why aren't you using your Jedi awesomeness to help Luke or Nova? Last time I checked, Luke was still trying to unsink those X-wings."

"Yoda is tending to their training, my young apprentice. Have faith that they will receive their needed lessons at the proper time."

I shoved a piece of not-bread into my mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "I'm going to start calling you guys the FCB, the Fortune Cookie Brigade. Getting a straight answer out of a Jedi is apparently harder that getting them out of the Blue Dragon and his brother, Lord Jackhole."

"Perhaps if you asked the proper question, you would receive the proper answer."

I swallowed down the retort that instantly sprang to mind with a mouthful of stew. It was so not the padawan way of speaking. Not in the slightest. "Okay, I'll bite," I said aloud instead. "Let's get some basics down. How am I able to see you right now?"

He gestured to the air around him. "This planet is teaming with life. The Force surrounds all living things. It penetrates us, surrounds us, and binds the galaxy together. On a planet as full of life as this, it is possible for those not of the Force to speak with those that are forever a part of it."

"And you chose just now to make your presence known to me—no, wait, let me guess. You are going to rattle off something about proper times and appearing for lessons and all that crap, right?"

That smile widened. "And you thought you couldn't be taught Force concepts, young padawan."

"The name's Mary, and please don't call me padawan."

"It is what you are."

I scoffed. "No, it's what Yoda told me I was. I think he's just being kind, though. You know, including the dumb kid with the rest of the stars just to make her feel better about herself."

"Is it really so hard for you to accept the truth of who you are?"

I thought about throwing the remainder of my not-bread at him for that. I'd spent almost all my time in this galaxy trying to convince everyone of the _truth of who I was,_ that I was Mary and not Aurora. I didn't throw it at him, though. Would be perfectly good waste of not-bread.

"Yup," I said without preamble. "Because this isn't who I am. I'm a bartender. I'm from Earth. And this…" I copied his motion of waving a hand vaguely in that universe-encompassing way. "This is all a fever dream, or a coma dream, or something. This isn't real."

"This is your life now, padawan Mary. This is your destiny."

That time I did throw a bit of the not-bread at him. As predicted, it sailed right through him. Stupid ghost. "Are you really going to tell me that my destiny was predicted by a film student in California by the name of George Lucas about ten years before I was born? Because that's when Lucas wrote the first draft of Star Wars, in case you are wondering. Then he put it into production, made a crap-ton of money from the merchandizing rights, and when on to film two more movies before my parents met. And you want me to believe the entire world population of my planet witnessed my 'destiny' before I was even a twinkle in my daddy's eye?"

Obi-wan merely shrugged. "I find that less hard to believe than the destiny laid out before Luke."

I snorted. "Trust me, if he knew half of what was in store for him in the future, he'd give up right now."

"I doubt that. You know everything in store for you, and yet here you sit, going through the motions."

He had me there. If Luke knew everything I knew, he probably _would_ go on and face whatever was flung in his face, simply because it was the right thing to do. Even knowing it promised him nothing more that misery and frustration and heartache. Then again, I was doing that right now, myself. It sorta made me wonder which of the two of us was more insane. My money was on me, personally, considering I wasn't a made-up character.

"So riddle me this, batman," I said, turning to face him. "If you know everything from everyone that has come before you, can you tell me how it was that Luke and I had a mental pow-wow right before the Death Star went explody?"

"You are a vergence in the Force, padawan Mary. Your very presence serves as a beacon of sorts on the path of destiny. Where you are present, galaxy-altering decisions will be made, with or without your guidance. It is why you are to be trained, my young friend. You have the ability to influence the decisions made that alter the course of history. It is also why Padawan Stihl fears that you are falling to the Dark Side. He worries, and rightly so, that regardless of if your abilities are granted through the Force, your rage will consume you and you will use your influence for evil. Yoda has already explained such to you. All that remains is for you to embrace your destiny."

"Oh, no. No no no no no. You aren't plopping Pandora's box in my lap and expecting me to throw wide the lid, pal. Every time I 'embrace' my ability to change things, bad things happen. Like that hentai monster from Lord of the Rings in the trash compactor? Or the fact that the Chiss Duke Boys are now hot-rodding around the galaxy in a Star Destroyer General Lee when one should be dead and the other in the Unknown Regions. I still don't know what price I'm gonna pay for saving Nova's life."

"That was an unfortunate event," Glowy-wan said sadly. "The Emperor is aware of his presence in the Force. He will be hunted just as surely as Luke and yourself."

Oh, that wasn't good. Like seriously the opposite of freaking stellar. "Whoa whoa whoa, back that bad news bus back up to the curb. Did you just say Uncle Paply is on the look-out for _me_?"

The Specter of Shit I Didn't Want To Know nodded gravely. "Vader is aware of you, and as such his Master is likewise aware. They search for the three of you even as we speak."

"You really know how to say the things to make a girl feel all shades of safe," I said sarcastically.

"I answer the question that you pose, padawan."

"If I told you to stop calling me that, would you?"

"No."

Well at least he was honest about it. Two could play that game, though. "Great. Listen up, glow-stick, you never answered my question about how I had the mind convo with Luke. If I was able to create a telepathic conversation with Slick before the Death Star went the way of the dodo, why can't I just manifest myself a portal to go home?"

"Your destiny will shape the events around you. And that destiny has yet to be fulfilled. Until then, you must walk the path set for you," I didn't think it was possible for a ghost to look sheepish, but somehow he managed it. "Besides, I may have… helped… in initiating that conversation between yourself and Luke."

I crossed my arms over my chest. "So it _was_ your fault. I thought as much!"

"No, it was his destiny to destroy the Death Star. He was hesitant because he believed you were still present on board it. I showed him that you were not. And in the end…"

"In the end, destiny fulfilled," I finished for him. Just super. Were all dead Jedi the eternal Guardians of destiny? Was it like some strange sort of retirement plan? A Union perk of some kind? "Well wasn't that just peachy of you. Next time, warn a girl, will ya? Having farmboys with raging crushes suddenly appearing in your brainspace isn't exactly all that pleasant."

Glowy-wan shook his head slightly. "You are forgetting your training already, young padawan. I feel the anger rising in you, the conflict. Let go of it before it consumes you."

"Oh come on! You can't tell me that sarcasm isn't allowed for a Jedi. I read all the books, just so you know. I know for a fact that Mara Jade still kept her sarcasm and was still a Jedi Master in the end."

He pondered that a moment, eyes casting about in the space between the trees, in at area between now and the future. He nodded. "I see your point. Just be careful of that slope between sarcasm and anger. One slip is all it took to push many a Jedi to their doom."

I thought really hard about screaming that I wasn't a Jedi, that I didn't have the Force, and no amount of slip-n-sliding my way across the Dark Side was going to turn me into something as rank and putrid as Moff MuderFace. Usually going that evil required a uniform. And I hated uniforms, almost as much as I hated the color orange. So no worries there.

"Okay, one final question, glow-stick. What _is_ my destiny? The sooner I solve that, the sooner I get home, right?"

The walking glow-rod stood abruptly, extending an ethereal hand in my direction. "There is only one place to find that answer, padawan Mary. It is time for your trial."

Uh, my _what?_

* * *

You get three guesses to figure out where he took me. If you said the Dark Side Cave, you get a cookie. And a harsh talking to.

Seriously, no one wants to go to that cave. Saying that aloud to Glowy-wan didn't stop him from shoving me towards the entrance, though. Nor did it stop me from whining about it. I teetered on the edge of it, arms windmilling like I was attempting some strange new form of a rave dance.

"Are you sure I'm supposed to do this?" I gulped, looking down into the obscuring swirling mists.

Why did everything bad have to be surrounded by ominous swirling obfuscating mists? Why couldn't it be something like pink confetti sparkly mists? Yeah, like some sort of gateway into My Little Pony fairyland or something. Honestly, looking down into the depths of madness incarnate, I would have taken that leap into Ponyville or whatever they called it gladly at this point. Saddle me up with some colorful ribbons and good, wholesome language. I was willing to go G rated to avoid the plunge into the anti-Neverland.

"I mean, aren't you part of a council or something?" I tried again, backpedaling a step. "Shouldn't you and Yoda talk about this before plunging me headfirst into the mouth of madness?"

His response was a kind smile and a Force push. I didn't even get to wave goodbye. You know, with my favorite one-fingered wave. So much for last great acts of defiance.

My fall through the entrance of the Cave of Bad Wonders reminded me a lot of my fall into the trash compactor on the Death Star. There was a lot of "oof'ing" and moaning and cringing as I ricocheted down a rocky chute. Only this time I landed on my feet, though I couldn't claim credit for that. Somewhere in my uncontrolled fall, something had slowed me down enough to get my feet under me for the landing.

I stared out at more mists. And three tunnels leading in three different directions. None of which sported anything pink or sparkly. Dammit.

"Hello?" I called.

Nothing came back to me. No echo. No reverberation like you would expect in a cave of this kind. Just more grey flat cold dank nothingness. Stepping across the ground produced a whole lot of nothing, too. The ground didn't feel strange like Leia would say in ESB. It didn't feel like… anything. All I could tell was that there was something firm beneath my feet. But as to what it was made of, or where it was taking me? Not a clue. It was like being in limbo. Not that I've been there—unless you count being drunk or whatever it was that the Imps did to me during my interrogation. It was the only comparison I could make.

But _something_ was there. I could feel it in the air, and it made the hairs on the back of my arms stand up straight. Something was present, looming over me like an overzealous teacher showing me imaginary numbers. It wanted me to make progress of some sort, to choose a solution to the problem. But which answer? And which path? It wasn't like I had the Force to guide me to the right decision!

On impulse I picked up the lightsaber from my belt, holding it carefully away from my body and igniting the blade. It went off in a _snap-hiss_, bathing the mists in a faint green glow. Well, at least I had a light source now. And the ability to look bad ass if anything came at me. The ability to use the thing… eh, I wasn't a Jedi. Nuff said.

Still, the mists retreated from that soft emerald light, clearing a path towards the center tunnel. I followed carefully, trusting my blade through the opening first and shaking it all about. It was a cave, and caves usually meant spiders. Given the size of the bats around here, I wouldn't be surprised if that Shelob spider chick from Lord of the Rings was hiding out in there. When I was reasonably certain that nothing was going to leap out and eat me, I stepped through—

—into a dimly lit art museum. _Thrawn's _art museum, to be precise.

The man himself sat in a carved chair of some sort of dark wood, simple and functional, yet with enough of a flare to the strong bold lines to give it some aesthetic beauty. That chair was in the center of the room on a raised dais. All around him was art of various kinds. Even to my untrained eye I could tell that each piece was from a separate species, that no two cultures were duplicated in the display. Sculptures and fragments of pottery and paintings of all kinds either hung on the walls or hovered on display pedestals.

Thrawn sat wearing a uniform of all black, belted with a white sash. Around his neck hung a medallion with a stone about as large as my fist, burgundy in color. It's facets caught the light wrongly in my opinion, casting about iridescent flashes where it shouldn't. Definitely not something local to the galaxy I knew. Tiffany's didn't sport its like, that's for sure. No other decoration graced his uniform. And on his finger he wore a simple copper-colored band.

On his left _ring_ finger.

I closed my eyes tightly, trying not to feel the weight of a matching ring on my left ring finger. But it was there, damn it. And when I curled my fingers to touch that cool metallic circle, they brushed against rich silken fabric, not the rough muck-stained jumpsuit that had been my wardrobe while on Dagobah.

His lips twitched into a sort of smile. A rather mocking one, I noted.

"And my bride makes her way home at last," he said, opening his eyes finally. "You have been a long time in returning, Empress Aurora."

I backed up swiftly, hoping that my steps would take me out of this cave. Instead, my back hit the carved wood of the double doors that lead into his personal sanctuary. No, into his personal trophy room, I realized. Something had caught my interest, something I would have missed before Yoda went all Frankenstein on my attention skills. I cracked open an eye, glancing to the side, to the one sculpture buried in the leftmost corner of the room. It hovered there on its platform, folding in on itself like a bizarre alien wave.

I knew what it was. It was the memento of Thrawn's first failure in the Unknown Regions, a sculpture from the one time learning a species art had not given him insight into its thought process. In the end, he'd destroyed their world, wiping out most of the species with it. So I knew that this wasn't just an art room. It was too small, for one, to capture and hold all the art that Thrawn would have collected if given the chance. No, this was more intimate, more personal.

This was the graveyard of destroyed peoples at his hand.

"My name is Mary," I gritted out between clenched teeth, gripping the hilt of my lightsaber until my fingers trembled. "And I am not your Empress."

He shrugged a graceful shoulder. "You may call yourself whatever you like in private, my Empress. In public, you will forever do your duty as my wife. We have an Empire to maintain."

"Since when!"

"Since you helped me destroy the Emperor," he said simply. "Even now, Lord Thrass and Lady Threnody are on their way to Csilia to welcome it into the Unified Empire of the Hand."

"So you've won," I said, staring him in the eye. "All your dreams have come true. You now have the means to protect your people from the Yuuzahn Vong threat. Congrats to you. What does that have to do with me?"

He rose, walking down from his throne. I held my blade up, using the one stance that I'd manage to get the hang of. "Stop right there. I will defend myself," I hissed.

His smile took on a condescending quality. "Must we play this game again, Empress? You will not harm me. I explained all this to you on the eve of our wedding. You are the one human in the galaxy that I can trust completely."

I held my guard, starting to breathe hard. Where were the noghri? Where was _Rukh, _his most trusted bodyguard? I had a live weapon within a meter of their grand lord and no one was here to try and take me down. Something was horribly wrong. Terribly wrong.

"Why?" I asked, arms starting to tremble from holding the stance too long. From not wanting to know the answer to that question.

He stepped close enough that I could have cut him in two with the blade and not batted an eyelash. "Because I am the only thing keeping Lady Vader from claiming the throne and ushering in another Sith Overlord to plunge the galaxy into darkness. She serves me because I married you, her beloved sister, uniting Palpatine's Empire and the Chiss Ascendency under the Empire of the Hand. Deep inside the dark-stained heart of the Lady Vader, Leia Organa still exists. And with her a desire for peace. I provide that, and through you, she thinks she has a leash on me. In a way, she does."

Unbelievably, he reached one blue finger out and touched the power stud on my saber. Unbelievably I let him. The blade vanished, the hilt falling to the floor from my benumbed fingers. I shook my head silently, felt his arms wrap around my waist and pull me forward against him.

"It is your decision, Empress Aurora. You can strike me down at any time. But someone more ruthless will take my place. It is the inevitable cycle of power, you see. At least in me, you understand that I will protect what is mine to the fullest of my abilities. I will not throw lives away carelessly, nor will I set policies like slavery or discrimination."

I glanced over his shoulder at the trophies, at the single pieces of all that remained of several dozen worlds and peoples. And I knew it could have been so much worse. So much worse. Worse if the Yuuzahn Vong won. Worse if another Sith Lord took the throne. And like making the call that destroyed the Death Star, that traded the lives of millions so billions could survive, I had sacrificed these worlds to my warlord husband, all in the name of saving billions more.

My eyes closed as his lips touched my neck, as the tears started to rise. And I let myself fall against the carved doors—

—or rather flat on my back on the floor of the central chamber. I gulped down the heavy swampy air, trying to forget the feeling of his lips on my neck, the lingering sensation of a wedding band on my finger. The blood on my hands from a future that may yet come to pass. My other hand still held my lightsaber, though, and for once I clutched that to my chest like it was the only thing keeping me grounded.

That… that had been intense. Too intense. It had been like… like what I'd written in previous fanfictions back home. What it would have been like if Thrawn had won, had taken over the galaxy and defeated the Yuuzahn Vong. In all my fantasies, that had been the best one. A victorious united galaxy… but at what cost? What price?

I shivered at the room full of trophies. How many entire species were wiped out just so Thrawn could succeed? How many worlds destroyed just like Alderaan? Nova and Obi had warned me that it was possible to fall to the Dark Side without being a Jedi. Did that mean that Thrawn was evil? Ruthless, yes. A magnificent bastard, of course. But evil?

That I didn't know.

I shivered again, rising to my feet. Just in time to see the pathway clear to the leftmost of the caves. This time I backed up before I even reached the entrance. My back hit solid rock. The mists above me concealed even the roof of this cavern from view. My only way out of here was through one of those tunnels. And burn me if I was going to go down the central one again!

Bracing myself, I did the whole sweep-for-spiders thing and stepped through—

—onto the deck of Cloud City. Only it wasn't. Or it should have been?

I couldn't describe the level of wrong that was present. It wasn't an aura, exactly. It was more a hushed quiet. Citizens strolled its promenades, going about daily business. Chatter was at a minimum though, as if everyone whispered instead of relaxed. Here and there in the crowds I could pick out a suit of white armor, or the black cap of an Imperial staff officer moving about. But it wasn't… I don't know how to describe it.

It wasn't as if the city was gripped by fear. It was more the way a person acted on their best behavior when around cops.

But then I saw it, the column of white and black that started at the far end of the promenade. Lord Vader stood at the head of that column, a menacing black cloud that caused everyone to bow their heads and kneel as he passed. Flanking him was… I felt all the color drain from my face.

Flanking him was Leia, dressed in black from head to foot. And on his other side stood Luke, garbed nearly the same. Lightsabers hung from their belts. And they had their father's eyes—the yellow I'm-going-to-melt-your-face-with-the-Dark-Side eyes. Behind them was a battered Han, Lando, and Chewie, all bound and looking like they caught the wrong end of a swinging baseball bat. Behind them was a good squad or twelve of stormtroopers.

And that parade was bearing straight down on me. My hand clenched on the lightsaber in it, ready to bring it up in my useless guard stance… and felt my fingers nearly rip from my hands as the saber sailed through the air, landing in Luke's open palm. A second later I felt as if someone had kicked me hard in the back, sending me sprawling to the floor right in front of Lord Vader.

Leia smirked that time, lowering her hand.

I gazed up at the Dark Lord of the Sith and his two junior cub-scouts, wondering idly if Leia was going to start handing out Sith Girl Scout cookies made of poison. Until something invisible grabbed my arms and hauled me to my feet, twisting said arms behind my back. Since neither Leia nor Luke had lifted a hand, I had to assume that it was Big Daddy doing the heavy lifting this time.

"Mary," he rumbled.

"Asshole," I responded immediately. Leia glared at me, though behind her I thought I heard a cough that sounded suspiciously like a strangled laugh. A Han-sounding cough. Goodie, at least I could amuse someone before I died. "Oh, I'm sorry, my Lord. I thought we were stating the obvious."

I expected the usual Force choke or slap. Instead, I received a snicker. Seriously, a snickering laugh from the Lord Vader. He reached up with his hands… and lifted that helmet from his head! I braced for the smell of rotted burnt flesh, for the image of a man's face made of more scar tissue than features. I hadn't braced for the image of a fully healed, young Anakin though. And I was glad of the Force power holding me painfully erect. Otherwise, I would have fallen over in shock.

"I have you to thank for this," said Anakin the Young and Beautiful, shaking his mane of slightly curly hair and grinning at me. That little boy grin that made me love him in ROTS. "Without your knowledge of the spaarti cloning cylinders and how the Emperor planned to use them, I would not have found this trick to immortality. Nor would I have found my son and daughter. So thank you, from the bottom of my black little heart."

"Don't mention it," I squeaked out. "Literally, don't. I'm not taking the fall for this with the Emperor."

He reached out a hand, touched my cheek gently. "No, I have other plans for you, Mary. Once we correct all those horrible teachings that Yoda gave you, you'll take your rightful place with my children," he stepped forward then and planted a tiny kiss on my forehead. "My Leia loves you like a sister, still. Even with the truth revealed to her at last. So a sister she will have. You are Aurora Skywalker now, my adopted daughter."

I was lifted from the ground and deposited next to Luke. Who gently but firmly wrapped an arm around my shoulder. The Force bindings on my wrists still held them behind my back, and I stumbled along behind Daddy Star Warsbucks. "What about Praji?"

"What about him?" Leia responded coolly.

"Not talking to you, Darth Darling," I snapped. "We had a deal, Lord Vader."

"I am altering the deal," he said simply. "Pray I do not alter it further."

"So not falling for _that_ trap! And yes, I _am_ being treated unfairly. So give up the goods already."

"Your Praji is dead," Luke supplied this time, tightening his grip around my shoulders. "I killed him. He was unworthy of the Skywalker heritage."

"Uh, I don't have the genetics to be part of the Skywalker heritage, dumbass," I screeched, trying to kick at him. Trying not to break down into sobs. It couldn't be. They couldn't have killed him…

"True," Vader, Jr. replied, a bit of a twisted smile on his lips. A twisted smile that used to be so innocent, so farmboyish… "However in your case we will make an exception."

"She could always marry you, brother," Darth Darling put in, smirking faintly. "Think about it. The children you could produce…"

"No, I have other plans for your sister," Worst Father Ever replied. "Luke will marry Mara Jade. You, my daughter, have a choice. Will you marry Prince Xizor of the Black Sun, or will you marry Prince Isolder of the Hapes Consortium?"

Leia wrinkled her nose at both options. "That depends. How long will they have to stay alive?"

Vader laughed, the sound silken and real and sorrowful to my ears. I never realized how much I preferred him in the suit to the real flesh. In the flesh it was just too… unreal. Surreal. Creepy. Frightening.

Heartbreaking.

"Long enough for us to move agents through their networks and take control. It shouldn't be more than a year or two. But you may take any lover that you desire."

She glanced over her shoulder at Han, and for the first time I saw that man go pale with fear. Looking at Leia as if she were a viper rather than the love of his life. "Yes, I have a lover in mind already."

That was all I could handle. This couldn't be happening. I couldn't live in a galaxy where a Dark Luke and Dark Leia rode the throne of the universe and traded royalty like they were baseball cards. I dug in my heels as hard as I could and yanked backward. It pulled Luke to a stop, but not before I saw his gloved hand fly forward, fingers closed into a fist to strike me between the eyes.

And as that fist came towards me, I noticed that it was his real hand. The hand that he should have lost battling Vader—

I came to my senses again on the floor of the central cave, shivering as if I had the mother of all fevers. The visions, if that's what they were, were getting worse each time. And I could see where they were all my fault. The first one must have had something to do with the quasi-deal I had made with Thrass, Thrawn and Lorana. If I worked with them, would we really overthrow the Emperor and Vader? Would Leia really stay evil? The second one was my fault, too. Luke still had his original hand, which meant that Dark Leia had gotten to him before his confrontation with Daddy Dearest.

And that meant Vader would move against the Emperor with both Luke and Leia as his backup. And that meant a regime change that couldn't pgossibly end well for the rest of the galaxy. Which, in turn, meant I had to find a way of either keeping the two of them apart, or fixing Leia before things went too far.

I was running out of time to do that. We'd been on Dagobah for a month or so now, and thanks to Hater's brain tampering, the Aurora part of me and the Darth Darling part of Leia had accelerated the move to Hoth. Which meant very soon Hater would launch his attack on Hoth—ahead of the Lucas-verse timeline—and send the events of ESB into motion in earnest.

My timeframe of "eventually" in fixing my head and Leia's had suddenly found itself on a very tight schedule. Something had to be done and quickly.

I shoved to my feet, wiping away tears. This time I didn't wait for the fog to dissipate and show me the way to the last tunnel. I gripped my lightsaber like a club and plunged in head first.


	28. Chapter 28

A/N: Full notes at the end of the chapter this time. :)

You'd think that, by now, I would have learned that one does not simply walk into Mordor… err… I mean run blindly into Darkside Cave of Darkside. Bad things tended to happen to people when they did that. Like in those horror movies, where you watch the first victim of _les bad guy du jour_ walk into the dark basement during a suspiciously convenient power outage without a weapon of some kind. It used to drive me batty that the idiot would walk out of the kitchen (full of sharp stabby things) into the hallway (where she elects to ignore the obligatory umbrella stand holding a baseball bat, iron fire poker AND a crowbar. Cus let's face it, every person keeps that crap in there. Enter eye-roll here) and picks up the oldest looking flash light in the house. You know, the one looked like Thomas Edison had used it as a prototype and that's going to go out the moment she tries to turn it on?

Yeah. That. Stage freaking five stupidity. For sure. And there I was, practically auditioning for the lead moron role in the next slasher flick.

To be fair, I may have been running towards my gory death of a destiny, but at least I wasn't unarmed. I had one hell of a weapon-flashlight-stabby-thing all rolled into one. And I was swinging it as if the mother of all spiders was on the other end of the thing. I think I was screaming, too. Someone was definitely making a racket in here, and given all that I'd experienced lately, it was probably me.

If I couldn't be intimidating and statuesque like a real Jedi, then I could be me. Six feet of scary blonde insanity waving a lightsaber like I was on crack. Whatever was in here had better think twice about attacking me. I was dangerous. More dangerous to myself than anyone else at this point, but still dangerous. So there!

"I know you love your new toy, Mary, but you're going to break a window if you keep swinging it like that."

I opened eyes I hadn't realized I'd closed—tightly, mind you—and gaped. First at the voice interrupting my warrior scream, and secondly at my surroundings. I wasn't in another grave yard pretend to be an art gallery, nor was I marching in St. Peppers Anti-Hearts Club Band across Bespin.

I was home. _HOME!_ As in standing in my apartment back on Earth, dressed in my favorite pink Juicy Couture sweatpants and black tank-top (the one I'd bedazzled with said Bedazzler to spell out I AM THE DARK SIDE'S COOKIE! in sparkly pink and silver rhinestones). Tied around my waist was the matching Juicy Couture hoodie. And on my feet… Oh, if I could have pulled my feet up to my chest to hug them without breaking a lot of somethings inside me, I would have!

My beloved custom pink Converse high tops graced my poor style-withdrawn feet. You've no idea how long I saved up to have these made. Months, I tell you. Nearly a year of saving every tip and working double shifts to have these beauties in my hand. They matched my Juicy sweats perfectly, and I only wore them on special occasions. Like to the opening of a new Star Wars movie, or when I got a new piece of Star Wars memorabilia. Hey, some women had a thing for Manolo Blahnik or Gucci when they wanted to look their best. I had no problem strolling a red carpet in Converse.

Love me. Love my style. Nuff said.

Deidra Collins, my roommate, watched me fold myself in half on the floor, doing that yoga position that looked like you were sitting in a reverse Indian Style with your feet poking up in your lap instead of tucked under your knees. Then try to wedge my arms around my feet to hug my beloved specials. I know, I know. Most normal people would have slipped off the shoes and hugged them that way. I didn't have that kind of patience! I still had nightmares about Commander Douchebag Dilhole Butt-nugget Buttmuch Asshat Dilbag sending my Ruby Reds to an early grave. Cut me some slack, dude.

Deidra, to her credit, merely sighed and shook her head. That was one of the reasons she was my bestie and roommate. She could tolerate my weirdness and not miss a beat. That, and her raging obsession with Star Wars matched my own. Hard to believe, eh? Especially given that she was a lovely woman with soft blue-black hair that fell around her face in waves, olive-Italian complexion that always looked like she was wearing makeup even when she wasn't, and blue eyes. Definitely not your typical Star Wars geek.

Oh, and she was a paralegal, too. Complete with degree. As in, she went to college with a mind to actually make money after she graduated. Not like me, who went to college to follow her dream and ended up bartending. Moral of the story, folks: dream of money. Lots and lots of money. So you don't end up stuffing olives for tips after four years of school.

Dei kindly stepped over my contorted form as I paid homage to the Converse gods, cheerfully ignoring my moans of utter bliss at the feel of the sacred canvas against my skin, setting the packages in her hands onto the battered coffee table. She lifted the lid on the first, and my head popped up like I was a meerkat. Was that… no, it couldn't be…

"Yes," Dei said, as if reading my mind. "I went an hour out of my way today to pick up a pie from John's Pizzeria on 44th Street."

I was drooling on the carpet, literally. After a month of eating swamp rat or whatever it was that was served as meat on Dagobah, and previously eating whatever was common in the GFFA, the aroma of a real Brooklyn style pizza was beyond imagining. I had a slice in my hand before she'd finish lifting the lid, eyes rolling into the back of my head as I fell backwards onto the floor. The cheese was perfect, stringy and melty and gooey as only John's could make it. And pepperoni! And onions! And… and…

"Should I leave you alone to have a private moment with your pizza?" Dei asked, smirking.

"Should you shut the hell up and let me enjoy a slice?" I said around a mouthful of heaven.

Dei laughed. "Jeez, Mar, you are acting like you haven't had pizza in years."

"Feels like."

"Then I take it you want some of this?"

She ripped open a brown paper bag to reveal the twice-glorious logo of Carlo's Bakery inscribed on a pastry box. Next to that was a six pack of Dr. Brown's Cel-Ray celery soda! Don't knock it, peeps. If the Jewish community has been drinking it since the 1930's, there has to be something to it. I loved it, loved it's slightly peppery ginger-ale flavor. Loved it as much as the luscious cannoli from Carlo's that Dei was spiriting off to the fridge for us to devour later.

I shotgunned a whole can, burping loud enough to make a Wookie proud right after. Mildly surprised that the belch didn't have a rating on the Richter Scale.

"MAR!"

"Oh no, I'm not apologizing for that one," I grinned, shoveling more pizza in my mouth. "That I earned in droves."

"I can't imagine your shift at the Nevermore was that bad last night," she reproved gently. "And make sure you pick up your new toy. If you break it, I'm not going to listen to you bitch about the cost."

I paused in trying to simultaneously inhale an entire pizza while gargling soda, glancing down where she pointed… and if I wasn't already sprawled across the floor, I would have fallen. My lightsaber sat on the floor. Not one of the highly expensive custom replicas that used heavy duty florescent lightbulbs that you had to put on or take off. It didn't even look like the pair that was crossed above the headboard of my bed.

It was the one that Master Yoda had given me. The one that had a green blade and a simple silver hilt.

The pair that was crossed over my bed were red, one hilt stylized after Darth Vader and the other after The Emperor. To match the Sith Red sheets, and the black comforter that I had laboriously traced a giant Imperial sigil on and painted with glittery silver paint. I glanced down at my tank top, and then across the open doorway to our bedroom. Dei's bed was out of my field of view, shoved against the far wall. But mine? Oh, I could see it just fine.

And the poster of a hot pre-suit Vader above my bed. And the Death Star alarm clock on my nightstand. And the red-lightsaber lamp next to it. And, hanging on the wall that my tiny twin bed was rammed up against, were all my photos and awards for costuming excellence in the 501st Legion. I wasn't just a fangirl. I was utterly and truly a supporter of the Dark Side, a loyal member of the Empire even in a world in which it didn't exist. No wonder everyone was worried about me in the Lucas-verse.

_No, I think rage is your real master. And rage leads to the dark side. _Strike #1 from Nova.

_It is also why Padawan Stihl fears for you falling to the Dark Side. He fears, and rightly so, that regardless of if your abilities are granted through the Force, your rage will consume you and you will use your influence for evil. _Strike #2 from Glowy-wan.

_Alter you so clearly he could not if your permission he lacked. _And this, the third strike to bench me out of the game, from Yoda.

"Son of a bitch," I whispered softly. "I really _am_ the Dark Side's cookie."

The question was, which badguy got to eat the cookie? Thrawn, or Vader, or Palpatine, or some yet unforeseen player in this fanfic-gone-wrong? Or, did I take myself over to the light side and give the cookie—I mean give my headful of info to Luke and Yoda and let them sort it out? Become one of the Swamp Clan like Yoda and live out the rest of the war in hiding? It couldn't be that long until the rebellion blew up the second death star, right? Maybe a year or two? Right? RIGHT?

Or… did I just sit here and pretend that it was over? Was that really an option? Could I live in this not-world and eat not-pizza with my not-roommate? I mean, no one _told_ me that I had to go through any of those caves. It was just sort of assumed. I could live here in this slice of unreality, where Star Wars was just a set of movies and books, and the worst thing I could do with a lightsaber was break the blade or take out a window swinging it around.

"You could do just that."

I dropped my pizza slice, head whipping in the direction of the new voice. Well, the old voice. Because it was _my_ voice. Only it wasn't me _me_ doing the talking.

I was staring at the Aurora me. Standing in my not-living room, gazing down at me like I was the scum on the bottom of her perfect little princess slipper. She-me was dressed in that same black dress Vader had given her-me-us when the Princessing had taken place. And her-my-our hair held that lovely gently curl to it, shinning like spun gold in the fading afternoon light. The smile that touched her-my-our lips was lovely and cutting and everything in between. But the eyes. Her-me-our eyes were empty and cold.

No, not empty, I amended. _Hungry._ They were hungry for control, for dominance.

To take the lead over our body.

"Stay here," she purred. "All you have to do is say yes. Stay in this little slice of our brain and let me do all the… how did you put it before? Ah, yes. Heavy lifting. Yes, let me do that, Mary. It's what I'm built for. It's what _you_ put together for us long before you came to our Master's attention."

The not-me walked around my not-living room, fingering the Star Wars items. "See? With all you collected and revered, you made yourself the perfect agent for the Empire. Set the stage, we'll call it, for my birth. Our Master merely had to reach inside you and unlock me. I'm everything you wanted to be, Mary. I'm a Princess. I'm Leia's best friend. I'm cherished by Lord Vader. Luke is falling in love with me. Nova respects me, or will again when you stay here and I have a little chat with him. I have Thrawn's ear when it comes to important matters, and if we play our cards right, I'll be in his bed, too,"

The not-me smiled a lovely smile as she turned back to me. "And with everything in our head, the Empire _WILL_ win this time around. Luke _WILL_ turn. We've seen that destiny already in one of the visions. After we tell Thrawn what we know, the Yuuzahn Vong will never reach Vector Prime and thusly never threaten our Galaxy. Ithor will not be destroyed. A new _SITH_ order will rise instead of a Jedi one, and Jaina will never have to kill Jacen. Jacen will never kill Mara. Leia and Han and Luke will never know those sorrows. Everything you ever wanted. So sit back and enjoy the show."

The Thing with My Face held out my DVD remote to me. At least, it looked like that to me. But it only hand one button. One that said "PLAY." All I had to do was sit back on my sofa, surrounded by all my favorite things in the world, and push that one button. Then I could watch the movie of my life play out, watch the not-me go through all the trials and terrors. I could rejoice when she won Thrawn's favor, when she and Luke parted ways so Luke could be with Mara.

I could cheer when none of the bad ever happened to all the characters I'd loved. The not-me was right. She could make every one of my fanfictions come to life. She could change everything. And I'd never experience pain again.

But…

But… what about the good? What about Jagged Fel and Jaina setting the Galaxy to rights? What about the Jedi Order that would rise later on and serve an Empire of honor? What about Cade Skywalker? Would he ever exist?

"What about… what about Praji?"

Not-Me snapped her fingers, and I felt the worst-best feeling ever. Nahdonnis was sitting next to me, his arms wrapped around me. I was leaning against his chest, curled against him on the sofa. His lips played gently across my forehead. So safe. So warm. So… so pleased to be here with me, to watch the movie of my life. To live forever at my side in this tiny apartment.

It took everything in me to pull away, to look into his empty eyes. "You look like the guy I'm falling in love with," I whispered. "But you aren't. Nahdonnis would never settle for this. He's always wanted to be a soldier, to take action for what he believes in. Even in his retirement, he was still a General-Governor, not just a Governor of a planet. He ruled and commanded."

I stood, walking over to stand nose to nose with the not-me. "No dice, sugar. You just offered me everything I wanted, true. But you screwed up with him," I said, jerking my thumb over my shoulder at the piss-poor copy of my favorite dilhole. "I wasn't lying when I told Threnody that I didn't want a puppet at my side. The Nahdonnis I know would have taken your head off for even thinking of trapping him in a place like this. So, as Dei Dei would say, let me make a counter offer. _You're_ going to stay here. _You're_ going to watch the movie of our life. And instead of being a silent observer, _you're_ going to use all that wonderful crap that Hater stuffed into our brain to help me. But I call the shots. _I_ was here first. _You're_ nothing but a collection of my thoughts and desires."

I lifted my hands in a very familiar Jedi saber stance, not even batting an eye when what should have been that remote was actually my real lightsaber. My fingers found the control stud, and the thing sprang to life.

And for the very first time in my life, I didn't take the easy road. I didn't run away from that unmarked grave. I didn't walk away from that job in the museum. I sure as fuck didn't hide behind a bartending job. I faced my fears. I was serious about my life.

I acted like a Jedi. Go me!

"Think about this, Princess," I said calmly, channeling my inner Qui-Gon. "Think about it real carefully. If you don't agree to my terms, I'm going to take your head off your shoulders and put an end to Hater's influence over me for good. I'd much rather use what you know to help save Leia. But I'm fairly confident that between Luke, Nova, and I, we'll find another way if we have to. I still have a lot of the same goals you spouted, but I'll get them on my terms. Not on Hater's. And certainly not on yours. Capisce?"

The not-me eyed the lightsaber blade, grimacing. "Are you certain you want to do this? Once you throw open the locks in your brain, you may not like what you find there. Not everything our Master did was to your detriment. And even with that knowledge, you may not be able to change the future you witnessed."

"If being in this galaxy has taught me anything, it's that you face what's coming and you roll with the punches. Nobody's perfect, doll. Least of all you and me. And no one government is ever perfect. But everyone is going to have the right to choose what happens to them. I won't let you take that away from them, or away from me," I hefted the lightsaber again. "So what's it to be, headless and dead or comfy and cooperative?"

Not-me shook her head, but she stepped to the sofa and sat down rather disgruntled. One hand lifted the remote and pointed it at me. "As my lady commands," she snarled.

She pressed the button, and the blast of pain in my head as mental locks blew free threw me to the floor once again.

* * *

"I'm really getting tired of this," I moaned, curling up on my side. "Is there anything in this galaxy that doesn't make me hurt and fall unconscious _AFTER_ being forced into something I didn't want to do in the first place?"

Yoda chuckled, hobbling over to hand me a cup with something that smelled like crap and probably tasted even worse. "A will of its own, the Force has. Just as a destiny, you have. To fight both at once is to invite unnecessary agony. Now, drink you must."

I knew better than to argue with him. And the witch's brew tasted just as bad as I thought it would. I made a face, mostly due to my lips trying to crawl down my throat and my tongue trying to leave through my now lipless mouth.

"I think you made this brew bitter as an unnecessary agony," I muttered, handing back the cup. I blinked a few times, eyes finally coming to focus on my surroundings. "When did I get back to your house? And how long have I been here? I have a serious bad habit of having my bell rung and waking up days later."

"Only hours have passed, my young padawan. Found you, did Skywalker and Stihl, an hour after you completed your trial."

That caused a raised eyebrow. "You mean I succeeded? But at what?"

Yoda tipped his head to the side. "Sundered you were, and now whole you stand. Remember, can you, everything that has transpired?"

I made like an owl and did that blinky thing for a few minutes. And then I made like a pack of gazelles after spotting a lion. As in, I panicked and bolted to my feet. I would have smashed my head into the low ceiling of Bag End if Gandalf the Green hadn't already anticipated my reaction. A cushion of air met my head instead of the plaster, shoving me back onto the mattress.

"Thrawn! Vader!" I screeched. "I've been talking to them, or the not-me has been talking to them when the me-me is asleep. This whole time I've been telling them everything! Where we are, what we are doing, what our plans are. Oh son of a… I remember it all! When I get my hands on Plain-and-Tall, I'm going to shove my lightsaber where the sun doesn't shine and—"

"Aware of this, I am," Yoda cut me off, tone firm but soothing all at once. "While understanding Darth Vader's plans, I do not, know I that we are safe. Seen to it, has Grand Admiral Thrawn, that Vader's plans are slowed. Helped him to protect us, you have, with the information you gave."

I gaped at him. Really and truly gaped at him. "You mean… you mean you _knew_ that I was playing the double agent this whole time? I didn't even know that! Not until I confronted the Not-Me in the Cave of Not Wonders and nearly lost the me-me to the not-me! If that makes any sense. And you were okay with it?"

"Okay with these events, I am not," he said grimly. "Through you, my padawan, messages were sent. Messages given at my direction. Back, let your mind wander, to the last stop you made before on Dagobah you arrived."

I scrunched up my face and did as was asked, letting my thoughts reach back to what had previously been all hazy, using the techniques Yoda had taught me to bring them into focus. Yoma, it was called. A tiny smuggler's moon that styled itself the next Nar Shadaa. Back before Teela became the Witched Bitch of the (West) Dagobah, she and I had gone shopping on that place while the rest of the menfolk repaired and refueled the ships.

What I thought had been a man with a blue dragon on his tunic wasn't really a man with a blue dragon on his tunic. It was just a man in normal spacer attire—bad vest, bad pants and a shirt that may have been white in a previous life, but now sported more grease stains than actual fabric. It was his eyes that pulled me up short. Those weren't hard spacer eyes. Those were hard imperial agent eyes. And when Teela had ducked into a shop to buy a meal for her and Vill to share, he'd pulled me into a semi-private alcove.

He'd revealed himself as Dagon Niriz, Vice Admiral Dagon Niriz of the Empire of the Hand. And why was a freaking Vice Admiral on a smuggler's moon in the ass-crack of the galaxy, dressed like a spacer? Because he was the only one that Thrawn could trust to deliver a message to me. Notice I said _to_ me, not _for _me. Because I was now his freaking mind-wonkied courier, and my latest mission was to give said message to Yoda.

How effed up was that! Yoda and _Thrawn_ working together?! Against VADER?!

I think that was why I started to cry then. Because that was so freaking absurd I didn't know what to do with myself. No, I could joke all I wanted, but the truth was I had started to cry because I couldn't believe the galaxy was that broken. That Thrawn was part of the conspiracy to keep Yoda hidden, but knowing the great Blue Dragon, he was doing it for reasons hidden to everyone, even Yoda. And nowhere in those reasons was a happy ending for me.

Unless… unless it had something to do with that vision in the cave. Unless this was part of what lead to Thrawn winning, to him becoming the Emperor of a fully United Galaxy. As in, no more unknown regions. Was that really his end game? Would Yoda let that happen? And what was Yoda getting out of this whole thing? Other than an extended guest role on Worst Vacation Places Ever: Star Wars Edition, I mean.

It all started to made sense. All the maneuvering and the crosses and double crosses. Vader wanted to rule the galaxy and establish a Skywalker Dynasty. Thrawn wanted to rule the galaxy so the Chiss could end up safe and on top of the galactic totem pole. The rest of us poor citizens of the galaxy were the supporting cast between the Hattfields and McCoys—I mean the Skywalkers and the Mitths—doomed to be crushed between the two as this conflict escalated.

This story wasn't about rebels and emperors anymore. This story was all about _family_. It was all about two men that were terrified to lose the things they loved most, and what they were willing to do to protect those things.

I facepalmed my… well… palms. "I can't let either win," I muttered between my fingers. "I can't let Thrawn bring peace to the galaxy in his own way. The amount of lives that will be lost is too high. Not as high as what the Yuuzahn Vong is going to do when they get here, but still too high. But neither can I let Vader win. I've seen what happens if he does. What a god awful mess. I… Master, I don't know what to do now."

His hand touched my shoulder. "Do you must, what you feel is right."

Oh, I hated it when he said that.

* * *

"So it's done," Luke said softly, tightening his arms around me. "You're leaving."

"I can't stay," I sighed. "As much as you and Nova and Master Yoda wish it, I'm not a Jedi. I don't have the Force. But I do have a destiny, and I can't ignore that anymore. The longer I stay here now, the more danger I put the three of you in. I have to get to Hoth and try and save Leia. That's my path to walk right now."

"I could…" he let that sentence trail off.

He wanted to come with me just as much as he wanted me to stay. But we both knew that couldn't happen. After I'd shared my visions with him, Nova and Yoda, we all decided—see, no more of me just doing things on my own for my own reasons!—it was best that I get moving rather than hang around. I'd accomplished all my goals on Dagobah. My mind was united at last, and I was free from both Hater's and Lorana's influence. I was my own person again.

It was only a matter of time before Hater felt that through the Force, if he hadn't already. Then he'd come looking for his wayward little servant. I couldn't lead him to Yoda, Luke, and Nova before they were ready to confront him. So it was now my turn to fly around the galaxy as the decoy and let them get back to being real Jedi.

It was time to get _The Empire Strikes Back_ on the correct path again.

"That's sweet of you, Slick," I said, smiling up at him. "But we both know you need to be here. This is what you have wanted all your life. I won't take that away from you. Do me a favor and be the best Jedi you can be."

"Only if you do me a favor in return. Wait for me. I will find you, Mary. Count on that. And I know what you are going to say," he smiled as I tried to squirm both mentally and physically out of that promise. "You said before that I'm going to meet someone that will be the love of my life, that that person isn't you. But I'd like to be the one that makes that determination, okay? So wait for me."

I couldn't say no. No matter how much I wanted to, I just couldn't. Not after promising Nova that I wouldn't try to control everything like a Sith. Not after recently regaining my own freedom from Hater's influence.

"Okay," I agreed. "But keep an open mind, Slick. I'm not going to be responsible for destroying your future happiness."

He laughed. "One way or the other, I'll find happiness. Count on that, too."

After that, there wasn't anything more to say. I won't bore you with the details of the many passionate kisses and other promises we made, both knowing over half of said promises were never going to happen. But when you left someone to face a war, when someone you loved was about to do a very dangerous, deadly thing, the only thing you could do was make wild promises about the future you hoped one day would become reality. It filled you with happy thoughts in your darkest moments.

And as we broke the atmosphere of Dagobah, (the "we" being me, Uli, Teela, and Vill in the _Runaway Princess_, with the rest of the Rogues flying escort next to us), I personally set the course for Hoth. I had a sister(ish) to save and a lot of things to set right. And out there somewhere, the blue-eyed-maybe-love-of-my-life to save.

How's _that_ for embracing destiny!

* * *

A/N: Apologies if any reader freaked out when they saw the "Compete" status on this story. This is the end of the **FIRST** part. I think this will be a trilogy by the time I'm done. The story was just getting too big and unwieldy, so I decided to chop it into several sections. So for those that want to know how everything works out in the end, please look for "Careful What You Wish For: Embracing Destiny." Thank you all for enjoying the first part. Especially for the favorites, follows, private messages, and reviews. :D

Special shout out to **Nerdman3000:** I got your messages and yes, I do have something in mind for what you mentioned. It'll come out in Embracing Destiny. :)

Also to **J. Palmgren**: I'm very sorry that you think the plot and main character of this story is "stupid." All I have to say to that is that I did warn you in the summary that this is a Semi-Serious Crackfic. Humor is subjective at best, and to each their own as the saying goes. You don't have to read it if you don't like it. Thank you, though, for taking the time to express your opinion.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs. This is purely for fun. Please do not sue.


End file.
